Back then, if I had told you that I had fallen in love with a girl that was years younger than me, I would have smacked myself in the face and told you to forget everything. Years younger? Twenty-five to her sixteen? I would have quickly told you that it was some sort of weird holiday today and that you should put it off your mind. Instead, now I can tell you this statement without regret. I fell head over heels mad for this young girl of sixteen years.
Arina Tenji came to this country against her will. She didn't want to belong in America, her heart was stranded back in Japan. Yet here she was in Los Angeles, begrudgingly trying to make a calm living among the rich and most likely famous. How do I know this? Well, that answer will come to you at a later time. Right now it's all about her. Actually...let me rephrase that last sentence, okay?
It's more about us. If you don't mind me, could you listen to my romantic tale? This girl did not only shape the remainder of my year, but most likely the rest of my life. Her sterling cyan colored eyes haunt my dreams, her long mane of raven-black hair enraptures me. This girl's beauty stunned me--how could such a youthful gal manage to look like such a mature, gorgeous woman? I wondered that a lot as I spent my time with her. I'm getting off topic aren't I? Let's start where most storytellers tend to avoid: the end.
What's so bad about the end, I ask you. It's the most anticipated part of the story don't you think? Yes, you do think so. The only way it can become anticipating is if the story itself is invigorating and deliciously addicting that will make you want to read more, and more, and more...No I'm not stalling for time. I'm just warning you that I'm not like other orators. I don't follow the rules because sometimes, the rules are really meant to be broken. I should know. I'm sitting in jail as I tell you this after all! Oh, you're surprised? Really? Come on, twenty-five to sixteen man! Alright, now I'm stalling. That's my mistake, but now we'll move on. I promise you this time around.
We said our good-byes at the Los Angeles airport, tears spilling out of our eyelids and farewells spewing out of our mouths. They came out so fast, you know? In such a short time we meant a lot to each other.
Arina Tenji came to this country against her will. She didn't want to belong in America, her heart was stranded back in Japan. Yet here she was in Los Angeles, begrudgingly trying to make a calm living among the rich and most likely famous. How do I know this? Well, that answer will come to you at a later time. Right now it's all about her. Actually...let me rephrase that last sentence, okay?
It's more about us. If you don't mind me, could you listen to my romantic tale? This girl did not only shape the remainder of my year, but most likely the rest of my life. Her sterling cyan colored eyes haunt my dreams, her long mane of raven-black hair enraptures me. This girl's beauty stunned me--how could such a youthful gal manage to look like such a mature, gorgeous woman? I wondered that a lot as I spent my time with her. I'm getting off topic aren't I? Let's start where most storytellers tend to avoid: the end.
What's so bad about the end, I ask you. It's the most anticipated part of the story don't you think? Yes, you do think so. The only way it can become anticipating is if the story itself is invigorating and deliciously addicting that will make you want to read more, and more, and more...No I'm not stalling for time. I'm just warning you that I'm not like other orators. I don't follow the rules because sometimes, the rules are really meant to be broken. I should know. I'm sitting in jail as I tell you this after all! Oh, you're surprised? Really? Come on, twenty-five to sixteen man! Alright, now I'm stalling. That's my mistake, but now we'll move on. I promise you this time around.
We said our good-byes at the Los Angeles airport, tears spilling out of our eyelids and farewells spewing out of our mouths. They came out so fast, you know? In such a short time we meant a lot to each other.
