Music Monday: The Writer by Ellie Goulding

A fictional interpretation of a song by Ellie Goulding

“I don’t want to be perfect.” She said. “I just want to be the best.”

“The best what?” He asked.

“Everything. I want to be the best everything.”

But she wasn’t the best anything.


She didn’t have a place, so she forced herself into his.

Couch surfing had been a way of life for her for a while now. It was a good way to meet people, to build connections, networks. Someday, she always said, she would make it big. And then all the people who were slamming doors in her face when she showed up with her purple suitcase wouldn’t be able to laugh at her when they thought she wasn’t listening.

But for now she stayed with him.


He wasn’t the best anything either.

But he also didn’t try to be. The only thing he wanted out of life was an easy way to keep living it. If there was anything he wouldn’t have to do himself, well, he was sure to take advantage of it.

Which was why he was letting her stay.

She kept out of his way, for the most part. Often, he would forget she was even there. And that was perfect for him.

But not for her.


She started to feel like a decoration.

“Why don’t you make me out of clay and stack me on your nightstand?” She shouted. “Or better yet, why don’t you make me a character in a novel and stuff me on the bookshelf? Is this all I am to you? Just something you can tuck away and ignore until you need something? Seriously?”

He wasn’t listening. He blinked, as if he hadn’t even heard her.

“What?” He asked.

She threw her hands up in frustration, grabbed her suitcase, and left.


She would become everything she wanted.

She would become the best.

“I’m not perfect.” She told the camera, the public, the world. “I just try to always give my best.”

He saw her face on the screen and thought why does she look familiar? 

But he couldn’t place her anywhere.

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