Robert walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from her. "So, what do you write about, anyway?"
Farrel set her pen down. "You’ve never seemed interested before," she said, surprised.
"I didn’t say I was interested. Just curious."
She sighed. Why did he have to try to ruin everything that meant something to her? She wanted so much to be able to have the kind of normal relationship where they could share their individual passions with one another. She looked at him. He was dressed in an old paint stained shirt and faded jeans. His feet were bare. His attire was unusual, but she didn’t dare question it. "Mostly, I write about my feelings. Sometimes what I’m feeling pours out on paper and releases all of my frustrations. The difference is that I can control my characters so they can have the most wonderful lives with all of their dreams fulfilled."
Robert’s eyes narrowed. "Are you saying that your life isn’t satisfying to you?"
Farrel noticed the disapproval in his eyes as he swept over her makeup-less face and uncombed hair. Self-consciously she swept a strand of hair from her brow as she pondered his question. "No, I don’t mean to imply that. It’s just that everyone always wishes certain aspects of their lives were different. In my writing, I can fulfill all of my dreams through my characters’ actions and emotions."
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