They had been walking for a very long time; neither of them two realised they had spent two hours of their lives just walking side to side, with their arms around each others’ waist.
They both couldn’t be older than 60 years each and their love had lasted for about fourty years. But, if you asked them, they would tell you that just as those two hours spent walking felt like a couple of minutes, the same went for those four decades they had decided to face together.
The sparks of the rising moon enlightened her features. Silently and calmly, a tear was brought to her cheeks. He took her face in his hands and wiped away that tear. She closed her eyes and put her hands on one of his. Don’t you cry, my love – he said. She swiftly nodded and pretended to put herself together.
When I’m gone, don’t you cry – she said. He smiled and wrapped his long and mighty arm around her; he wanted to protect her, he did want and if he could, he would have given his own life to save her. Still, that’s not how it works. The victims are randomly chosen and, if you’re one of them, the only thing you can do is to agree with this judgement and hope you’ll be taken away as late as possible.
Once in their unlucky lives, that evening seemed endless. Every single light, shade, reflexion… it was all contributing to create something which he would later grab onto. Her sweet brown eyes, her pale face which still found the strenght to blush when she was with him, her pretty slim lips. But he preferred focusing on the colourful leaves on the trees and the welcoming ground they had their feet on and the delightful mood she was able to give birth to. That’s all he would be left with, eventually.