There’s a story I’ve been meaning to write, a story I want to commit to paper, a true one, one that is different from my other stories and yet uncannily familiar. It’s overflowing with things said and many things left unsaid, happy, sad and everything in between, convoluted and confused and jumbled and as much as you hate the term, yes, complicated. And at the same time, it’s a very simple story, easily described with the direct, blunt words you so prefer.
The problem is, I don’t know how to write this story, because I don’t know how it ends.
I do know how it begins, though:
“So I met this girl at a party one night…”
