Sometimes you just have to wait in line, he said, eyes earnestly focused on her, shoes scuffing the carpet.

What if I'm sick of waiting? Her brow was furrowed, like it'd been for a long time. Gone were the laugh lines, the dimpled cheeks, shrouded by hues grimy and dank. What if I just want to... let go?

He smiled. Nothing seemed to have changed. Still stubbornly obstinate, persistent. Pausing, he didn't know how to react. Don't, was the only word he could offer. Outside the rain split the land apart, a trespasser. He turned to her. Try, he urged.

The doubts, multitudinous, engulfed her slender frame. Brushing away a lock of hair from her eyes, she sighed, acknowledging lost hope. She drew circles, squiggles on her bedspread, lost in her own reverie.

She could try, till her eyes bled, but what he didn't know was that she wanted so much to acquiesce. To give up. Will you help me?

His gaze was apologetic, and she knew then he didn't want to be here. Obligation, for fear of wallowing in guilt, made him reach out. Hesitation, for love of another, made him draw back. Everything seemed to have changed. He no longer saw her soul. He sensed danger in her every word. Danger of nostalgia, danger of reminiscence.

She knew. A shadow crept across the sun as rainclouds formed a marquee across the senescence of day, and she knew she had lost.

And then came the regret. Brown eyed wonder mingled with wrenching despair, they stared at each other, each hopelessly inarticulate. She was deluded to think he cared.
They were content, then, but no longer so. They. It didn't sound right now. It was just He. She. You. I.

But you used to care...

He shook his head, but this time he was almost patronizing, pitying. But she makes my day now... his voice trailed off. Holding up his basket of love, he gently pulled it away from her yearning hands. You had your turn, he admonished. Now all this, he gestured, goes to her.

None for you. He quietly smiled to himself. None for you.