Ashton was a world renowned writer, catching the hearts of teens and young adults with his tragic story's of love and loss.
Notice, though, how the word 'was' had been present.
One of his books hadn't been turned into a film in more than three years, and he was having trouble coming up with something that made him want to write.
To him, writing was about wanting to feel something, and wanting to know what happened to the characters you had created.
He didn't believe in writing because you wanted to be famous for it, because in all reality, he would spend the rest of his life writing. Even if every single report, or comment he had gotten on any book he had ever written was bad; he would continue to write, simply because he loved doing it.
A problem Ashton seemed to have, was, he was looking for something that would make him happy. And maybe, hopefully, some people around's moods would improve as well.
Another problem that had Ashton scratching ideas into his notebook in the middle of the night, is he went out every morning, to view the busty and peace he forced himself to believe was spread out across the world.
He believed very few people could see peace, and he also believed he was one of the people who saw it in everything.
He saw it in the beautiful couples sharing coffee's outside at six in the morning, and he saw it in the girl that always wore black and walked in front of his bench on her way to work every morning.
Hell, he saw it in the old homeless man that would smile at every person even when they didn't throw a couple dollars or some change into the ceramic cup he always had outstretched for people.
But none of these things made him want to change the world, none of these things made him feel something.
And god, how Ashton wanted to feel something.
(A/n)
I don't know how to feel about this and it's not very long (BC it's an introduction chapter)
Leave opinions PLS ((;
