A Search for Love.

I walk the glistening streets of the windy city. Chicago is always busy and bustling. It's a cold night. There are people filling the sidewalks. Jazz music comes from every street corner anyone who lives here should feel alive, but I feel stuck. I feel lost. I am a twenty year old woman. My mother always told me to marry a rich man who could give me everything I wanted. I didn't want wealth. I wanted love. Not just any kind of love, but deep passonate love.Many people call me a strange girl. I don't want diamonds and jewlery. I don't want to be a housewife like every other god foresaken women in ninteen twenties america. I don't want to be a singer or a dancer. i want to be a writer.

I fell in love with books when I was a little girl. By age ten I was the only girl in the schoolhouse who could read chapter books. When I was thirteen i began to write stories. My stories were about mature topics, like love, divorce, war and abuse. These were topics considered taboo. My father found my stories one day and he beat me. My mother cried she worried I was going to be considered a dirty foulminded girl. They asked me why I had written about these things. I told them I wrote about what I know. I wrote about what i wa shearing in my own home. I came from a big wealthy family. They were deffinition of corrupt and dysfuntional. Thats what inspired me to be a writer. I hope that tonigh brings me some excitement. I think I'm gonna go to the bar have a few shots of vodka. mabey this time i'll enter alone and leave with a new friend.

I walk up to the bar " A glass of Grey Goose please," I asked the bar tender. I never drink vadka by the shot. I drink it by the glass. I look over and notice a man reading a book. He's the mysterious kind. He has dark hair. His eyes are easey to get lost in. They are grey, and they're so charming they have the ability to place you in a chance. He has a thin muscular body. He seems like a lonely man. The kind that only does well with people of his own intulectual status. He appears to be intellient. I can tell by the way his eyes move across the pae of the book he is reading. He holds a pencil in his hand as he marks up the book. I finally see the tital of the book. Alices Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carol. On the endtable next to him sits a glass of Vodka. I grab my glass from the bar and make my way over to the man. " That is my favorite you know." I say to him.

"What the Grey Goose?". He asks.

"well that too. But I was talking about the book. It's been my favorite since I was a little girl. I've read it about a hundred times." I reply to him.

" You didn't strike me as a reader." He says.

"Well I write too. Writing and reading take me away from the world. They take me on adventures." I explain.

" How do you feel about math and science?" He questions.

" They're overated they don't take me on adventures to far away places, and they don't teach me lessons about misery, life, death, write and wrong, but overall tehy don't teach me about human nature." I futher explain.

" What do you mean?"

" They don't talk about love or passion. They have no emotional depth. They are short and concise. There ar no conflicts with them but most of all they don't give me any feeling." I ansewer.

" You are an extremely knowlagable woman. Your dangerous. Underneathe your pretty face is a brain. Filled with complex thought and philosophical theories. I can't have a conversation as intulectual as this with most men. I bet you could stir up a fire with your political veiws." He says.

" Don't get me started on polotics. I could tell you about it for hours." I say.

"You truly are an extroidanary women." He compliments me.

"Let's go somplace." I suggest.
"where?"

"Anywhere. I know the perfect place. There is this coffe house on mainstreet. If we take the fire escape up to the rooftop you can see the entire city from up there." I tell him.

He grabs his coat and says, "Aren't you coming."

"Yes, of course"

We made it to the rooftop the moon glistened in the sky. The city lights bleded like it was a painting by Picasso. He looked at me and said, " I have a great problem."

"And what may that be."

" I have fallen madly in love with you, and I don't even know your name." He said.

Then we kiss his lips touch mine. I have finally found what I was searching for, true passionate love. My heart feels if it were an old candle wick that hadn't been lit in years, but when it finally caught fire, it burned as bright as the sun. He is my mystery man, but not for long. Soon we will know each others names and life stories. Years later we will tell this stry to our children, and aur grandchildren. I have this feeling that our love is an eternal flame that will never die.

Author Notes: I hope you enjoy the story. I didn't name my characters because I want the reader to focus on the development f the characters instead of their names.

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