And The Truth Is, We Don’t Know Anything

1964 New York World's Fair
1964 New York World’s Fair (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He knew she would always be there, knowing he would always be there, waiting.

They had never met. He knew she was a world away from him. She came to him in his dreams, her voice lingering but quickly fading in those hazy moments upon waking. It was like a record listened to backwards to reveal secret messages, but just as he felt he was beginning to comprehend it it was gone, leaving him cold and alone in his studio apartment.

There were times he could feel that he had just missed her. He bought a ticket to the World’s Fair to try to take his mind off the ache inside him, but all the bright spectacle just made him more keenly aware of her absence. After taking in DuPont’s “Wonderful World of Chemistry,” he sat on the bench outside, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his corduroy coat to protect them from the sharp October wind. But the bench was warm, as if someone had just been there, and the suddenly slowed rhythm of his heart told him. It had been her.

Every year that passed made him older and never was she any closer. His love for her filled him up completely, but he could never walk with his hand in hers, giving her all that he had stored up in himself for years. All he could do was know that she was doing the same for him.

He knew she would always be there, knowing he would always be there, waiting.

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