In the late of night, London seemed exceptionally beautiful to Annabelle Turner. Perched upon a balcony overlooking the stunningly frosted London city streets, she sipped enthusiastically at a bottle of bourbon and dragged breathlessly on her third cigarette of the night. Annabelle idolised nothing to the absurd extent at which she adored a world blanketed by darkness and stars. It was a profoundly vulnerable state she found the world in at this time. When the sun fell behind the moon and darkness invaded, people of all ages began to dream. Even those who believe themselves wholly past the age of naive romanticising. While some of these dreams depict sadness and woe, they were still a divine moment of innocent wishing. Bedtime is one of the only instances when the human heart is most honest in its desires. Annabelle was not exempt from this collective of idealists, she however preferred to dream while awake. She liked to look upon the stars and down at the streets and marvel in the ideas of where this extraordinary world would take her. 
Although this evening was different, still in her pitch black dress, her matching blazer still remaining a in ball on the living room floor, Annabelle’s mind was void of any dreams. However swimming in agonising memories of her dreadful day. These memories played as an obvious clarification of what she already knew was amiss. The usual blissful euphoria she felt in the moments she spent residing on this very bench was completely absent. Rather she felt nothing but paralysing longing. A longing to solve the mystery of time travel. Annabelle did not want to see The Beatles live, or spend an intimate night with a young and beautiful Keith Richards. All Annabelle wanted was one more chance for goodbye. The last few years of her life she had spent wallowing in her own insignificance and self pity and she had taken for granted the only person whose eyes shined with admiration and love when they met her own. 
Patrick Turner was the reckless and epic love of her life, and for too long she hadn't shown him the overwhelming love she felt for him, and now he was gone and it was too late. They were teenagers when they met, still babies in their mothers eyes. But to themselves they were wise beyond their years, this proved true when they both were just 18, on the day of their third anniversary, Patrick asked Annabelle to continue loving him as ardently as she always had, for the rest of their lives. Within a month the two were Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Turner, and they had the world at their feet. 
As the sun climbed above the reach of the clouds, the sky morphed into an array of vibrant oranges and dusty pinks that illuminated the sky. The enchanting darkness faded out and consequently, a groan filled the silent air around Annabelle. She knew now that she must stop pretending she is living in the world where he still existed and return to the one that now seemed quite so empty, her moment of blissful pretending and self serving lies had come to an end. 
“Well Bill Watterson presently your words could not possibly make more sense to I, Reality continues to ruin my life also.” Annabelle flatly moaned. 


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