Based upon the poem 'Hour' by Carol Ann Duffy
There wasn't always enough time; both of them had to work all of the time and John had therapy twice a week. Texts replaced conversations and were sent from taxis and trains. Any free moment between seeing patients or waiting for an appointment was spent sending small but sweet messages.
Mary was a saint throughout it all; always willing to meet up for hastily put together evenings. Late nights were spent walking around the city, admiring the bright lights and busy people.
There was no need for fancy dinners or entertainment. Together they were content to just talk, to bask in the company of another person. They didn't want awkward formalities to stand in the way of their happiness.
John began to feel better about his self. He almost managed to move on from … him… and tried to focus instead on the woman he was falling in love with.
Mary was sweet and patient. He had no idea when they had actually first met or who introduced them but he didn't really care. When he was with her he felt just excited enough so that his hands stopped shaking and he began to come alive again.
He never got tired to seeing her smile or hearing her charming wit. Their time together was counted in hundreds of thousands of seconds, the memory of each enough to pull up his sinking mood. He felt unbelievably rich and worthy around her, just being in her presence was enough to make him feel human again.
Mary was John's fairytale princess, his perfect match. To him she was the most beautiful, talented and extraordinary woman he had ever met. She was so compassionate and good with people and all the things that he wasn't.
She was also normal, lost in the crowd. He hated himself for calling her that because she was so not average; she was just safer than his life had been in the past. He could trust her not to run off and do something completely stupid just because she felt like it.
She was a woman he could see himself settling down with, one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with even if all they ever did was sit at home and complain about the weather or the traffic.
He wouldn't have given her up for all the gold in the world. Nothing else was anywhere as precious a she was to him. Her eyes shone brighter than any emerald and her smile was worth more to him than an entire silver city.
London was not the place to live slowly, to relax and wallow in the same moment for a year. London was also not the place that John could bring himself to leave. He continued to fight for their love and for evenings watching Eastenders because they were both too tired to change the channel.
John had to remind himself to keep his eyes open. Everything kept moving faster and if he stopped for too long then he would get lost once more. He had to make the best of each kiss, each moment of perfection. It didn't matter if the rest of the world went to Hell, he could survive on the grace of her brilliance.
Their love would keep them afloat. They were so dedicated to each other that the struggles seemed to fall away. Together they were invincible, immortal. Nothing could possibly stop them now; the world would bend to their every whim.
Or at least that was what Mary intended John to feel.
She felt a pang of guilt every time he looked at her with such childlike adoration. She pushed it down deep inside of her heart and reminded herself that she was doing this for important reasons, things more essential than the heart of a damaged man.
The only thing that was real was the love John felt for Mary, not her. She was just the puppeteer. That was the way it would to be.