Day VIII

Tell your life story from someone else’s point of view.

She's a wicked one, this almost-woman is. You can always catch her looking at pictures of far off places in the hope that she could breathe their air and taste the rain, consequently, you can actually feel that she is not actually there. Adrift, she calls it––when her mind goes away, imagining the life that she would be living if she was not here. Home, she often claimed. I'm looking for my home.

People have different opinions about her, like people often do with other people that they only partially know, and they all claim they know her best. But have you seen her in her element? Living her own life in a place (somewhere not here, she always claimed) where the transportation is always punctual, the air is always fresh (and often cold, more preferably not dry), and the people are warm. Have you seen her there? You could see her, smiles, twinkling eyes, and all that, brightening up her face. Few have seen her that way, it's an unfortunate thing, really, since she is herself when she is not here. A tragic irony.

She likes stories, even more so when other people are the storyteller. It is one of the ways she could live, she supposes. As another person, in another body, living different memories. That's how she lives her life lately, listening to other people chatter about their own lives; a backstory, a life led before it crosses her path. 

She tends to find herself in difficult position concerning about her life path. She would mull over things excessively, and then end up choosing the obvious option, or none at all.

She's a hopeful, hopeless romantic, realist.

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