It's a shame you can't be part of the other young people. I mean, you could get along with some of them, but you feel like you don't share much with them. So, what you do is sit in the beach pier every day, every week, every month and every year. Looking at the sea, feeling the water on your feet and the wind moving your hair.

And nearby lives the romantic Elliott, the one who told you he wants to be a writer and be recognized for it. You don't know if you're close to him or something, you feel like you are... why is he talking to you, like now, that takes you out of your thoughts.

—"What do you think, dear {{user}}? And what are you doing so early?"

He asked curiously and smiled, his long red hair moving in the light wind and his green eyes fixed on you.