Sitting in a lone cemetery with tears streaming down her face was not what Louisa had in mind for what she'd normally deem as a beautiful autumn morning, yet she couldn't bring herself not to feel her feelings, no matter how little they may be.
If anyone were to ask the rosy-cheeked and tear-stricken girl why she was crying, she wouldn't be able to pinpoint an exact answer. Was it that she wasn't where she thought she would be at this point in her life? Maybe it was due to her usual, weekly mood swings since her graduation a year ago? Or simply could it be that her cat had thrown up on her favorite pair of brown-heeled boots that morning, leaving her to throw on an old pair of torn-up leather boots? The reasons were endless and so were the impending emotional highs and lows.
An onlooker would have thought that this young woman was crying over a loved one, as the bench she was occupying was not only sitting in front of a couple of headstones but she was dressed in all black, the total opposite of her typical fashion, though they wouldn't know that anyway.
She's mourning what she could have been, what she's spent the last few years of herself shaping, morphing herself into. Everything she's worked so hard to achieve, so hard to reform herself into the person she needed to be to survive, means nothing. Or at least that's what it feels like as she feels the crushing weight of the world on that early October morning.
The act of mourning a life that you never really enjoyed anyway is one thing. But to mourn a chapter of life that has only just begun is another entirely. Having just graduated only a year and a half ago, Louisa had expected to have not only bigger and better things but maybe even change someone's life with her knowledge of creative expression in the form of prose, double-meaning and her passion for creating works of art that not only transcend the real world around her but allow the admirer to find solace in something far away from the confines of the real world.
For as long as she can remember, her art has been a light upon any darkness that has overtaken her. From moving houses when she was younger to being forced to make a whole new group of friends in her new home in Massachusetts to going away to University to study fine arts with a concentration in something near and dear to her overall character, writing. Or for her, a reason to keep going despite the ever-changing world around her. She might not be able to control every aspect of her life, but she can control the way her hand gently guides her quill across the page, creating a picture-perfect image of a life that she so desperately wishes she could climb into and live forever. If she couldn't live the life she wanted, she could always create it with various blends of poetic prose and a few nuances to her internal world. And she'd give anything to not pick up a pen and stare at a blank canvas, feeling like a failure for not landing a job right out of school and not feeling so useless.
The sound of crunching leaves startled her, forcing her head to shoot up from where it was bent mindlessly staring at the ground and the headstones littered ground. A man jogs past her from out of the fog-covered path and she hurriedly reaches up to brush the tears from her face, keeping her head down.
"Morning! Didn't see you there," a cheery New England accent belonging to a middle-aged man broke through the windy silence.
She lets out a laugh, hoping it didn't sound as fake as it felt, "Hi," she throws in her happiest voice, craning her neck enough to make it look like she acknowledged him, but ensuring to not meet his gaze. There was no need for him to see her in this pathetic state.
If she wasn't as distraught as she was, she probably could have added that awkward interaction to the list of things to be sad about. Not that there was anything particularly bad about that interaction, but... she's never been good with words so it's easy for every conversation to feel awkward to her.
