He strolls slowly. He kicks a stone along the cobbled street. It's cold outside. He can see the air exhaling from his mouth with every purposeful breath.
He catches up to the tumbling stone and kicks it again.
Despite the night chill, he wears just jeans and a t-shirt. His hands are in his pockets. He can sense the frustration, the hurt, the humiliation welling up inside him. He feels consumed by it, like the sensation of jumping into water. It surrounds him, confuses him, and offers no escape route.
He kicks the stone.
The moment runs through his head from start to finish on constant repeat. How could he be so foolish? How could he have bought such lies? How could he have shown such faith?
The stone dribbles onwards.
The shadows from the street lamps momentarily hide him from view. He re-appears underneath the next lamp, hands still in pockets. Head still down. Breath still steady. Pace still constant.
He ponders further. Was it his fault? How could it be? Is this the right solution? Is he doing the right thing?
He looks up and sees her standing there. Waiting. Her red dress sits tightly on the curves of her hips. Her arms are folded to protect herself from the cold. She shivers, and looks into his eyes. His breath falters, but he walks towards her still.
They stand opposite each other, shivering now not from cold, but from raw energy. She unfolds her arms and places her palms on his cheeks. She leans in, and they kiss. Her left arm wanders around his neck and pulls him closer. He embraces her around the waist and holds her tightly. The passion is electrifying. The street is empty. And so their love continues.
He opens his eyes. The mirage disappears. She is gone.
He puts his hands back in his pockets.
He kicks the stone forwards.
He walks.
