We tell ourselves stories. We weave together these different plot lines, wondering all the while if the outcome of our story might be different had we said or done something other than what we have said or done.
I've told myself so many different stories now, never getting the outcome i hope for. One plot line in particular stumps and slightly worries me. The one where the heroin finds true love. I do not see where this story ends, or more fittingly, where it will ever begin. So naturally i'm worried.
Will she bump into him on one of her trips abroad? Will she meet him on a crowded station filled with strangers and passerby? Will their love be instant and true or will his charm win her affections over time?
When?
Where?
How?
So many possibilities, so many plotlines, so many outcomes.
And yet...
Will she have to wait a lifetime just for her true love to even show up?
