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The loneliest nights tend to be the most productive for me, as I have learnt over the years, despite the pains and suffering throughout the devils hour. Perhaps it was the fact that isolation got the better of me, after plenty of years of no longer being the lone ranger and getting used to being a social butterfly. Here I sit lonesome in my apartment room, the lonely kid ending up being the lonely adult. What was I to expect? I always knew I'd be lonely by the time I've grown up— why should I be ashamed of that?
Loneliness turned on me when I attempted to befriend it again. How foolish I was to think that things could just go back to how it used to be. I was young and, not naive, but too blind to see the consequences which I had set upon myself in the mere future.
I look up at the black abyss above us outside my window sill, and I couldn't help but smile a little to myself, despite the pit of emptiness deep down. The night sky stretched an infinity. Always so beautiful, yet mysterious and filled with such celestial objects we humans have not yet to have discovered. The soft wind brushed my face and a shiver of joy shocked my body.
The isolation would eat me whole, sending me into a deep whirl of thoughts and memories. How much I still yearn to return to those jolly times. "Capital times!" As the younger, and the dreamier version, of myself, would say. Yes, I'm ashamed for looking in the past for comfort. It's been a habit of mine ever since the day childhood abruptly said "goodbye! Have fun being a part of adulthood now!"
I shifted in my seat and looked down at the wrecked sight laid in front of me. A sigh left my lips as I propped myself, fountain pen in hand. A dip in the cartridge of ink and then— I began to write . . .
When I was young, I always used to wonder why people were always so sad. Well, mainly my mother and father. They'd mope, sometimes lash out on me (not on purpose, though), and look absolutely dreadful. And after many years of experience, I finally came to an understanding of what my parents felt. I've felt their demons and their nightmares, day and night. But despite the loss of the homeliness with isolation, I would never trade my dearest childhood memories for the world. These people have been with me in the most happiest and lowest of times.
You may not know who I am or what I am here to tell you. But let me just say that I would be nothing like the person who I am today without them. This page would've been kept in the book store, maybe still pristine or already scribbled on by some other person, instead of my work desk with hundreds of scrunched up papers surrounding me.
Greetings and salutations, I am Eleanor Rigby and this is my story. I would say— even to go as far to say that I warn you, that this is a rather boring story. Yet, it is far too valuable to be kept tangled deep in my own head. So beware, for this is not a jolly tale, but is instead filled with the unfortunate tragedies of growing up and the woes of unforgiving heartaches.
authors note.
hey, guys! ah, the prologue. i'm pretty excited to write this story and i really hope it doesn't flop in my creative determination ahaha.
