The Mafia King ✔ [The Mafia Chronicles #1]

clair de lune.

Unknown POV: 

Dear reader;

you may have wished, or dreamt, once of a life between the pages of a book. a life where it's filled with magic. where your the hero- or villian. a life that you can only be happy to have lived, a life worthwhile.

You are like Her. you both have the same wish.

well, she's inside a book, and she is oblivious to it.

He walks up to her, wraps his arms around her small frame, his breath fanning her ears as he whispers words that drip of love and adoration.

Oh, what he would do for her. 

they run around them, their voices reaching the nieghbors, smiles gracing thier soft faces.

She never pictured herself in a book, only because she thought her life wasnt interesting enough- fitting enough, for a book.

 She gazed upwards at him while putting her hands over his arms that are draped around her. Those damn, blue eyes. that will freeze her in time. they got his eyes, those two hurricanes that sweep their living room from the ground, turning it upside down. 

some may complain, but she wont change a thing about her life. some may change the ending of their story- some the beggening. But she wont change a second of her's.

"your my ocean, so deep. enveloping me in your arms, drowning me in your eyes. leaving me breathless- gasping for air." she whispered

"and your my sun, so warm. covering me with your rays, protecting me from the cold of night. pulling me to you. burning me when i get too close." he leaned agaisnt her as he said that

"Poetry? when was that your thing?" She murmured against his hard, chest. 

"when i  realized that mundane sentences cant describe my love to you."

she moved her finger against his cheek, stroking it with so much love- so much care. 

Oh, what she would do for him.

I looked at them through a glass. some may not call it one, but it's a glass to me. i call it my imagination. it's a glass because it may not be clear most of the time, sometimes blurry, sometimes too dark or bright. but in the end i can see through it.

my imagination, yes. a figment of my imagination. all of them are. 

She. Him. They.

i close my eyes to see them, and imagine their smiles, banter, pain. all of it. i see him holding her now. not with his arms, but with his gaze. 

i see that she has chained him. not his hands. no, she has chained his heart. 

and i see them. spilling His coffee on Her. 

she jumps up, breaking loose against his grasp, defying the laws of gravity as she jumps up and down. Her favourite jeans, is what she yelled. 

He falls down, on his back, laughing. he curls up like a beetle in the summer time. unable to roll over to continue it's journey. 

she glares at him with the same  eyes she held him captive with. while her hold on his heart remains intact. 

they run up to her and attempt to help, making it worse. 

oh, poor jeans. 

she cracks a smile, leaning down at their hieght, patting their heads with a smile on.

its fine, she says. and they run off.

she turns to her prisoner, your buying me a new one! she demands.

the beetle finally rolls over and walks up to her. 

ill buy you the damn world if thats what you want. the stars, the sea, all of it.  he murmurs agaisnt her soft neck, his favourite place to lean on.

meanwhile, i was sitting on my desk, looking at them through my glass. remember? the glass of imagination.

i was writing the same story She thought wasnt good enough for a book. 

but thats because she's in my head, my imagination. 

but..

Dear reader, 

you may not know, if someone out there, sitting on their desk, is writing your story. the same one you claim you wish you had a way out of. 

you may be like Aurora, Leo, and thier kids. She, Him, They.

all fragments of the writers imagination. written when the author was listening to a classical playlist.

thats me. 

they are all parts of me that i see when i close my eyes and dive into my sea of stories.

all that love, all that pain, all that hope. all part of me. 

and part of you now.

so, Dear reader; 

your story, whether your the villain or hero or even a tree, is a part of a deep sea. 

a sea full of wonder.

so dont tell me your story isnt worth telling, like aurora has. 

because every story, is only published and loved, once it finishes. 

the unknown POV, is now The author's POV.

<3

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Heyyy!

so i was listening to a musical piece called 'clair da lune' and i thought of this idea, to show you how i precieve stories in my imagination. 

and yes this is about Leo and aurora and their kids, because they are my favourite story that i have written yet. not because of how good it is, but because it holds a place in my heart.

i hope this helped someone realize how beautiful writing, reading, and imagining is.

Now let me finish studying for my chemistry final, wish me luck!

Love, Mariecurieo23.