This is the first installment in my story, non of it is real though it might say it is.
The story isn't mainly about New York at all, in fact I know little about New York as I live in England - South Yorkshire. I don't think you could really get a much different comparason to New York. Non-the-less, it is set in New York.
I hope you enjoy this story, I hope I can make this as depressing as need be to get an idea of the situation along.
It's quite short but there are longer parts to come.
New York-
Prologue.
No.
This is not a guaranteed 'enjoyable read'. With the excitement, love and happiness. Sure, it has its moments of elaborate joy, but it's nothing more than a mere broken dream, or maybe she might've called it a fulfilled dream. Indeed, she had an odd way of thinking about things, rather dreamy, she might've called this her little tragedy, her very own version of 'Romeo a Juliet', though it might make her seem to have quite a hateful way of thinking about things if I said it like that, as if what she did was all up to her; non-the-less it was her ways and I liked her ways of thought, non in anyway distasteful. I really did love her until the end of us.
Of course, I'm not writing to whine about my life, merely to tell the story of a dear acquaintance and colleague of mine.
Renee Leigh Delilah, that was her name. Oh yes, the name I loved so. It sounds quite cliché, but as briefly aforementioned this is not a tale of a beautiful couple who fall in love and, despite their ups and downs or any foe they might encounter, marry, have lots of beautiful children and (as I believe they say) 'live happily ever after.
Nor am I going to tell you of my distraught rejection and her hatred towards me, because through all that happened to her in her quite miserable life, I doubt she ever stopped loving me. Though I could never be quite as perfect as her, there was always still a tiny glimmer in those pretty eyes that still remained, even when everything else practically vanished around her.
This is the story of the life of Renee Leigh Delilah, oh how I wish she had not left me as she did that night. Indeed, I dove into a pool far too deep, I was not to resurface and if I ever did I'd loose the pools; I'd almost loose the memory, the glitter.
It might seem as if I'm rambling on about some nonsense now, maybe it is nonsense, maybe Mrs. Delilah never existed but her presence was too strong to be perceived as some sort of sordid non-existence.
Handle this story carefully; I won't have her forgotten like the bland drunken eyes that fell upon her. I won't let them win, not ever. Though her later memories might have only ever been the face with the distorted expression of physical pain playing upon it, mine might be the same.
I was prepared; she was prepared for maybe the best years yet to come in her life, we were so ready, just us, it was always just us. If I convince myself enough I might think it wasn't my fault, I let her go, I know I did. And I don't have time for the convincing.
Beautiful Renee, where are you now, do you still remember me? Are you disappointed I let this happen to you? I know your not. I know you do secretly. You never liked to tell of yourself, of what you thought inside though you told me there you always thought strangely inside.
I'd send you a letter if I knew you were a real. I'd send you a letter if I'd of caught you.
Well… I hope my little introduction prepared you (Those of you who are still reading) for the truths I am about to write about Renee Leigh Delilah in this particularly nifty, black, spiral notebook.