He said he’d wait. He promised her and he didn’t break his promises. He still remembered the conversation as if it were yesterday.
“I’ll wait for you, I swear.”
“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 leant across the front seat and kissed him long. He still remembered how soft her lips were, how sweet she smelt, the fine, silk touch of her hair and the gentle heat of her finger tips where she touched his face.
These feelings never diluted over the years, were never beaten by the cynicism often travelling with age and mistaken for wisdom, nor trampled by years of disappointment and sadness as is so often the case. His whole life evolved into waiting and hoping.
He heard a car approaching. He stood slowly 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, even after all these years. Every time, he felt a rush just before he looked out, wondering if it was her.
A 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. A tear slid down his face as he sat to wait some more.