I've never attempted to write what they call 'creative writing' but this is something that's been on my mind for a while now.
She had so many friends, and she knew she was the prettiest. Some of them had potential, yet she was always the one who dressed the best, and looked her best every time she went out. She felt she simply had to, to keep that image she wanted to make of herself.
She always felt so opressed and out of luck. She never knew what to do, she simply did things. She always asked me, 'Was I in the wrong by doing that?' She asked it so naively that I simply didn't answer her question but instead I tried to console her.
I loved her, yet I felt she could never understand me and viewed me in just one dimension. People were more than she cared to admit, yet what could one say to such person? So nice one second, and so dark the other.
And all she wanted to do was talk about herself.
She started, and I listened not knowing when the time to comment would be right...
She wants the world to understand her, she yet has to realize the fact that she needs to understand the world first or at least care enough to attempt it.