“Really? You’ll wait for me even after I do what I have to do?”

“Yes, of course I will. I love you.”

“I know you do but love might not be enough to get us past this.”

“Of course it will. So long as we have each other, the world could stand still and we’ll still be fine.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re the way you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m so glad you see the positive in everything. I don’t know if I could do it if you were any other way.” She had leant across the front seat and kissed him on the lips. He still remembered how soft her lips were, how sweet she smelt, the fine, silk touch of her hair, the gentle heat of her finger tips.

His inner nature had never diluted over the years, had never been beaten by the cynicism that often travels with age and is mistaken for wisdom, nor trampled by years of disappointment and sadness as is so often the case. His whole life had evolved into waiting and hoping.

He could hear a car approaching. He stood and walked across the room, pulled back the blind and looked out the window. He did this at least a half dozen times a day still, even after all these years. Everytime, he felt a rush just before he looked out, wondering if she would be there.

The car came over the horizon and down the hill towards his house. It slowed as it neared and indicated to turn left. He let the blind slip from his fingers, turned and went back to his chair. Slow tears slid down his face as he sat to wait some more.