He would come back to her.
She knew he would.
And deep down she knew that false hope
was the only thing that kept her alive,
the only thing that kept her going.
It had been too long since she
had heard his voice.
She liked to think that somewhere out there
another girl, a girl he would never love,
was hearing it as she sat there thinking about him.
But one day, perhaps in the distant future,
he would come to her.
And all the times she had cried and
all the long nights filled with bitter loneliness and
all the mundane days that seemed to stretch out and blend together at the same time
would be meaningless.
She would recognize the touch of his hand,
turn around to see his face once more,
and never let go of him again.