Wide Awake

I'm not really sure what I think about this. I can't figure out if it's a good story and just poorly written or just plain bad. I'm going to come back and work on it some more laterr so hold on to your knickers, mates.

We met last year in a sculpting class. He was a painter, attempting to capture the people he met on canvas so they couldn’t ever leave. I was a photographer, content with putting the world on the walls of my one-room flat. We were perfect for each other. He was everything I was not and vice versa. He never talked and I couldn’t stop talking. He loved death metal while I loved everything but. He could drive a stick shift and I couldn’t drive at all. He liked chocolate and I liked vanilla. The only things we had in common were a 12:30pm MWF class and each other. We went to movies and rode our bikes to the ocean, I took his picture about half a million times and he would sit and paint me doing homework in our one-room flat. Eventually he moved to the other side of town and I stayed in our one-room flat, nothing lasted long for us. Sometimes we would see each other in a coffee shop or at the bookstore and I would say “hi,” and he would smile his Cheshire cat grin that I have come to love so much. I spent three years moving around the country with a guy named Joe, taking pictures and making coffee on a camp stove until one day I wound up back home. I went to our favorite places, the cinema on Main, the art museum at the college, the pier, and our little coffee shop, all the while just wishing for a glimpse of him. As I sat in the coffee shop staring out the rain-streaked window I heard an unfamiliar voice. He had a voice like nothing I had ever heard before, I sat trying to hear him clearly, picking up every syllable until I finally realized that he was standing behind me, laughing.
“You’ve changed a lot,” he said “I remember I was always the one with my head in the clouds and you always brought me back to earth, not the other way around.”
He started laughing again, a laugh that would make angels cry, and I realized that this strange talking man was my Colin. I turned around, and sure enough, it was him. Immediately I recognized his crystal blue eyes, and Cheshire cat smile, his hair was longer now, but it was still the perfect jet black I remember so well. “Ella, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, the smile fading from his lips. I managed to choke out “I’m fine,” and he invited me back to our flat. I took his picture and he painted me reading his new schoolbooks. We sat and watched the sunrise over the bay and he fell asleep beside me. The sun finally reached out into the blue morning sky and I was wide-awake.
I went back to our town a few years ago to see how he was. I found it a completely new city. It had skyscrapers and little bars at every corner. I went to our coffee shop only to find rows of brightly colored kites replaced the bar and coffee machines. I went back to our flat where the landlord said he had left  years ago, right around the time I came back to him. I ended up renting a small house on the beach and lived there for two years. 
One day while I was out back in the garden I heard a knock at the door, I went to see who was calling this rainy Sunday morning only to find my Colin leaning against the door jam. Seemingly untouched by age he looked exactly as he did the day we met in our MWF sculpting class. “It’s nice to see you’ve finally settled down somewhere,” he said “it’s unfortunate we never settled down together, but there’s still time.” And with that, he turned and went out the gate. Unable to speak, I closed the door and collapsed onto the sofa.
The following morning I went to the old cemetery where Colin’s mother was buried. I wasn’t sure what I would find, but I prepared for the worst. I found what I had feared; he died the day after I left him the second time. I didn’t know what to do; I went back to my house planning on jumping ship. I knew exactly where I would have gone, there’s a sweet little town in the backwoods of Washington State that I had always wanted to live in. There were enough boxes in the basement to get me on my way and I would be gone by morning. Once I reached the kitchen I stopped short, sitting at my kitchen table was none other than my dearest Colin. He stood up and said “Ella Mae, my dear, its time for us to leave.” Simple as that he took my hand and led me up the stairs to my bed where he helped me under the covers and sang me to sleep.
The next morning I woke up alone in our little flat. It was almost time for class, so I scrambled out of bed, dressed and ran out the door. I had almost reached the classroom door when a hand shot out and caught my arm. He pulled me into a deserted corridor and told me that he wanted to go to the beach today.  I agreed and we got out bikes and set off. That day we decided to move to a little town in the backwoods of Washington State, a place Colin believed would support us better than this humdrum grey town we lived in now. 
For the rest of our lives went to sleep next to each other. We fought, but we always made up. We woke up next to each other until one day we didn’t wake up at all.
 We’ve had a good run; I feel I’ve had the best run of all. I saw my life with him and without him and I got to choose the life I preferred. Now we’ll be together for eternity, and I’m so very grateful for that. It’s getting close to time for us to sleep, but I know in the morning we’ll both be wide-awake.