Summer Stories…But the heroine is not living a story

Does it ever stop?

This need to belong inside the realms of a story?

Do we really ever reconcile with the fact that we are alone?

And that, in reality, we are no longer living a story?

Nor did we ever, come to think of it.

Nevertheless, this afternoon, I pretend that I am living a story.

And who could stop me from claiming that I am its heroine?

Bottles of tanning oils and cremes.

A long, dramatic black dress, slit in the middle.

A very fashionable hat.

And I must admit, I do look like a heroine who is living a story.

No one would guess that I am searching for the beginning of a sentence to help me start writing.

A new story.

Any story would do, for you see sir, I have stopped believing in stories quite a while ago.

But the cold water of the vast swimming pool takes my mind off my demons, and I momentarily forget that I am no longer living a story.

Come to think of it, sir, nor did I ever.