He still remembers their last conversation.
He thoroughly believes her—equating with all the faltering promises. He never wavers what he has with her. It sticks longingly, sparking spectacles of lights through his chest.
She should be here, by this time. He brings with him all his baggage—even the most tattered memories. He loves them fiercely—breathing them like air as he hopes to find her along the way and help him carry them with him. He talks to himself that she’s just late—a traffic jam, a forgotten date, a place of occupied taxis…anything.
Two hours have gone and he still sits to where they should meet. Everybody’s already preparing their shoes to go home, but he’s still around—waiting.
He believes—he actually still fight with a little hope. He supposes the other side will have the same circulation in her system. Again, he waits.
“Let’s meet behind the bumper’s station—the white stone-bench.”
“For what reason?”
“Please get me an escape. I want to be with you.” She sobs.
A minute of sweat and silence air. His answer may cause the death of her husband and their children—as if he cares. “I’ll meet you tomorrow afternoon.”
It’s a beautiful evening—the place is filled with no one, but him.
WORD COUNT: 216
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