Song playing: The Ballad of Mona Lisa - Panic! at the Disco
Sitting in the corner of the bar, she was invisible; the ghost, as many liked to call her. It was how she liked it, alone with no-one to bother her will small talk and awkwardness. No-one to annoy her with unoriginal line. Yet she found herself waiting - waiting for him to arrive. He was the opposite of her. He was alive.
He was late today. Normally that wouldn't bother her, but she had a task to complete and unfortunately, she needed him. He didn't need to know that part though. She checked all the times around her: the wall, the phone, the wrist - all the same. What was taking him so long? Time was clearly not on her side today.
Finally, after minutes passing of her deciding upon her next move, the familiar creak of the door was heard. As much as she disliked it, he made her feel something- passionate, alive, though she could never speak to him. As a result, people call her intimidating, a bitch, a snob. In fact she is none of those, she just finds it hard to speak to people - anxiety, fear of rejection play heavily upon her.
Instead she prefers to be alone, sitting at a table listening to his voice. His voice gave her all the power she needed. The ability to put pen to paper and create. He maybe an entertainer to the crowd but to her, to her he was her muse. Across the months she has had many muses, but they wilt rather quickly. Would he dry up in the desert sun, or will he set her mind alight?
