Sellophane

He was driving back home. He did not even know why he went back, nothing really awaited him there. His house seemed to sense his loneliness and claw at him.

He wished he had her , but most of all he wished he had told her how wonderful she had looked the night she drove away.

Anyone can write a story.
So the little boy tried. He wrote and conjured a tale about happiness and magic, tinted with magical shades of love.
And now the little boy has grown up.
As he looks for the story, he realizes that anyone can write a story.
Only now his words reverberate in third-person.