act i.

she was high-fashion with old money at her very core. she was polished perfection with a ramrod back, haughty eyes and a sharp mouth that was always quick to sneer. born with a silver spoon in her mouth, the mere thought of going without was completely foreign to her. she knew what she wanted and, by god, did she get it.

she based her foundation on something she could excel at. law became a place where she could ‘contribute to society’ while being the lead girl, the prima donna she was simply born to be.  that area she could pace in the courtroom was her stage and she was sure she owned it, prowling it with chin held high and challenging any wayward member to try to overthrow her clear seat of dominance. she loved what she did. she lived what she did.

she went about her life lavishly. she was comfortable in her place atop society’s upper rungs. she perched there day in and day out, preening whilst touching up her golden hair, her hundred-watt smile and her million dollar attitude.

and she’d be damned if she changed that for anybody.

act ii.

words such as ‘oh, sorry’ and ‘excuse me’ and ‘crap, beg your pardon’ were constantly tripping off his tongue the same way his feet were constantly tripping over themselves and sending him right into other people. he was used to it—the looks that they would give him for bumping into them—and he had long ago gotten over the ‘get over it, it was an accident’ thought that always leapt to mind when he saw their disgust.

it was a sad thing to say that he was actually used to being treated as if he were sub-par, a menace to society.

when he was young, hands stained with ink and calloused by guitar strings were something he brandished proudly. but now? now he pushed his blemished and roughened hands deep into his pockets, tucking a piece of himself further and further within every time someone sent a belittling stare down the bridge of their nose.

his hair—slightly too long to be considered appropriate for his age—his eyes—the kind that knew much too much hardship but was fine with looking past it—his very smile—dimmed, like brightness through a fog—were all factors that put him behind in a dog-eat-dog society. in a working class, he was the dregs of a teacup.

but when he sang, oh, when he sang, he was top dog.

act iii.

if you asked him, he would tell you the moment that he laid eyes on her was like the moment the sun broke over stormy clouds, the instant a wave-tossed surfer burst through the water’s surface for air, the second a bird realizes that it can fly.

if you asked her, she would tell you that she didn’t recall seeing a man with a guitar on his back and that this was the city; people bumped into her every five minutes.

in his version he would say that they were fated to be together. he would insist that in that cataclysmic moment he bumped—here he would cough and amend ‘bumped’ with ‘met’—met her, the gods decided that it was impossible for them to do without each other. they insisted that these two mortals spend the rest of eternity together and so weaved the path of their lives accordingly.

in her version she would say he somehow found out where her law office was and insisted on treating her to a cup of coffee to the point that she agreed—simply to get that ‘rag tag miscreant’ out of the office.

he would then call over to you, “it was meant to be!”

and then you would realize that while some people did get their fairytale, not everyone did and that it is okay. sometimes, things are so much better, so much more worthwhile when not everything goes according to plan.

because looking at them now, you would see a woman looking at a man with constellations in her eyes and her heart on her sleeve. you would see a man smiling not with burning infatuation but with a love that is tried and true. you wouldn’t see her and him but, rather, them.