Wryly

It was almost evening. His stomach grumbled, striving for dinner -- unaware of what was going on. The sun, which seemed like a giant orange scorching ball than a star was abandoning the clear heavens,  leaving a pinkish trace behind.

The blue of sky was now turning dark, sucking up all the city lights.

They waited together for the traffic lights to change. They've waited together for a lot of things before, but they probably wouldn't anymore.

He wished they could wait over there through eternity. She wished it never came to this. He wished she could wait for him as much as he did for her. She wished he never made him wait.

The lights turned green now, and all the busy fathers taking bread and surprise chocolate bars back to their children at home started moving at that instant. She wanted to join the fathers' parade, but he held her back. She'd be gone, he thought, and never actually leave. She'd abandon him, leave behind a pinkish trace; and all he could do was turn darker and suck up all the lights.

She wanted to get over with it. It was hard enough for her, and for fuckssakes, why did he make her wait again?

Let me have this one, he said.

They hugged.

It was a long thing. The real stuff, he thought; he remembered the shy hugs, erotic hugs, supportive hugs. He didn't want it to end. It had to end. She knew it just had to.

She walked away, praying to the God(s) - if there were any - to make him kill all the hope inside.  He quelled his hope, but never let it fade away.

Now they were headed opposite directions. One last time, she thought, turning her head back. She glanced at him, and he was glancing at her, too.

She gave him a smile, lowering her eyes and raising her cheeks.

It was cold, it was dark, it was excruciating, it was fucked-up. He'd never exchange anything for that smile.