He waited.

  He waited. He waited for her, the girl. The girl of his dreams, of his hope and the master of his thoughts. His world. There she went, quick as the light that passed each day she was gone.

  Or more like he was gone. Gone, like I said. Left, for a good reason. A chance. A chance to love, a chance to be a (what some would call), hero.

  More like a savior. He guided her. Showed her a lighter path, a better road. A place where she was loved. Wanted, if anything.

But there she went. Fast, just left him. It was his fault- he strayed from the road they walked together. Strayed to try to have more freedom, more life. Darker. Less life than more.

  He still waited, though. Waited for her to return, waited for her to... Come back. To revive him of this dark slumber he'd fallen into.  To lift him up higher.

  At the station, he waited. In the crowd he looked wildly and eagerly for her light auburn hair, and her big brown deer-in-the-headlights eyes. Those lovely eyes. Oh, how he missed those eyes. And that smile? That's what he missed most. The smile when he met her years ago, picking up her fallen books in High School.

  But this, this was different. He was in his best clothes, roses in his strong arms. He waited.

  He waited and waited.

  And waited.

  But what for? She was gone, left him alone and afraid, and mad. And stressed. Alone.

The last person exited that train, that form of transportation that brought her home. Brought her to him, her love.

But the question was, did she love him? As much as he did her? Did she remember his sandy blonde hair, and his light, dancing blue eyes? And his olive skin? Did she remember how he lifted her up, and saved her from the dark hole which where she had fallen?

  No, the answer is, she didn't. She didn't miss the way he yelled at her when she did something wrong that year and a half ago, and when he slapped her. He was drunk, and she was scared.

  Yes, she still cared for him. Yes, she still yearned for the way he caressed her cheek and kissed her soft pink lips. But she didn't miss him. She didn't want to know where he was, how he wanted to hold her again.

  The real question was; did he regret what he did? What he said? What he screamed and shouted, and frightened her by his words? By his hits and kicks? By the way he through things? Over that silly little thing, how that man had given her a map at the convention where they had their first date.

  He did wait. He waited for years. Women tried seducing him, capturing him and pulling into their loving, pink-nail-painted hands. But he still waited.

  He waited for her 5'8 figure, how she was almost 9 inches shorter than him. How he yearned for the feel of her hair after she swam, after she kissed him.

  She didn't care for him as much as he did her. And it didn't matter anymore.

  She waited, for awhile. She waited for someone who lifted her as he did, but it didn't come. Not for awhile, anyway. But someone better came along. Someone who promised her he would never, ever let her down, to disappoint her.

  Now that man married her. They had A kid. A dog, a lovely home for the four. But does he know? He doesn't. All he cares for himself is the desire of holding the auburn-haired girl in his arms again.

  Yet, he waited.