He sat quietly. Patiently. He was a quiet man. The pitter patter of the rain played in his mins like a song that was stuck in hi head. It seemed to be getting louder and louder as though about to set off an explosion within him. The bench he was on, rusted and squeaking, carried his weight though having been in that exact position for the past 20 years or so. He waited. That’s all he ever did, was all he was doing and all he was going to do if that’s what it took. All the emotion, all the feelings he had buried so deep within him were silent and his heart still like a river that flowed no more. He never entertained them, his feelings that is, but rather preferred to think about what would soon come, or rather who would soon come. He would take her in his arms and never let go again. He would kiss her ever so passionately and appreciate every breath she inhaled; he would stroke her hair and protect her, keep her with him and never take her for granted. He would hug her tight, being able to breathe in the scent of her beautiful hair. She smelled like Goat’s Milk, the shampoo she used. It has a sweet tinge of cherry to it and he was convinced that it was addictive. He would just love her with all that he was. He would if he could.

You see, 20 years ago, on this very day, he lost her. No one let go, neither chose to leave. It just happened. They separately convinced themselves that it was for ‘the greater good’ but both knew in the core of their souls that they were made for each other and would never completely be able to let go of the other no matter what happened. He always hoped she would be waiting, somewhere. Hoped that he would one day see her and be able to call her his again. Alas, to hope was all he could do for he knew not the truth of the matter. It didn’t seem to change anything on his part though, he was still going to wait whatever the outcome, and he was what they called ‘the man who can’t be moved’.

The truth hurts, they say. They also say the truth can’t always be handled. He took it as it was, knowing both sides of the matter, and still choosing to stay. She could be dead for all he knew, but as long as he breathed in and out of his nostrils, he would live waiting for nothing else but that glorious moment of reconciliation. He ran his fingers through his thick, sandy hair and took a deep breath, the rise and fall of his chest slow and heavy. Staring down at his huge hands, he saw the spaces between his fingers and couldn’t help but see hers in the place of them. They were slightly callused and not as gentle as before, for the years spent training his body and lifting heavy weights without gloves has caused his hands to age, the same way his heart seemed to. Call him obsessed, call him crazy,, but this was one man of determination. He was stubborn, yes, but in the best way to wait and find, yet preparing himself for the worst of things to happen. It wasn’t a burden to him of he lived another year only to sit and wait again on the very same bench. You see, for someone who has had a yearning and connection to his past as great as he did, time was nothing. All that mattered was the moment he was in, right there and then.

The love of his life was out there somewhere. She could have been waiting for him as well, but she could have moved on too. She could have been thinking of him as much as he was thinking of her, but she could have been giving her love away to another man too. She could have been as alive and passionate about finding him as he was her, but she could have also been dea. He didn’t know, but he also didn’t mind and that was beauty of it all. His humility as a man to be perfectly fine with knowin something that great would have made anyone proud.
The image of her flickered across his mind for a split second and a sudden rush of emotions filled him as a wave of memories hit him like a tsunami. Warmth spread through him like a wildfire as he glimpsed at her glowing eyes, flecked with a black-brown colour. They were rimmed with honesty and encouraged kindness. Her eyes made you fall in love with her in an instant, taking you into an entirely different realm where you could only find people who loved each other and practiced courtesy all year round. His fingers traced her brow bone and followed the lines down to where her rosy cheeks were planted on such stricken cheekbones. Below them lay a humble little nose. She was soft spoken, but he could listen to her all day, simple mesmerized but the hold she had on him. A smile crept along the lines of his face, and the next thing he knew was that the wind blew cold and she was gone. Just like a passing wind, her face now remained a memory.

He waited and waited, knowing that she was coming this time. And if he came next year, he wouldn’t be able to find her anymore. She would have been gone and he knew it. It was now or never. The black sky above him was still sending down showers of rain, pouring like never before. He left every year at midnight and that time was coming very soon, sooner than he’d imagine. His weary body began to slouch lower into the bench he was leaning against, and he let out a sigh that he was unsure of. He didn’t know if it was one of relief, or disappointment.
Yet, he waitied in the moonlight that served his only means of light. He began to stare into the trees around him and the longer his eyes were locked on them, the closer they seemed to him. The branches waved left and right in the wind, almost like they were telling him to give up and just go home. This optimistic man, though, he looked past the branches and his eyes were compelled to the bark of the trees instead; how firmly and sturdily they stood through the harsh weather. They reflected his very personality, and that he chose to open himself to. Dead leaves on the ground bustle, seemingly being the only conversation he would have that night.

She didn’t show. No sign, no shadow, no voice, no scent; nothing.

He left with no words and in meek silence. He was a quiet man, and always will be hers.