She waited.
She waited for a year – a year of odd human- and horse-shaped statues, endless light pickles, and autumn flowers, of pressing conversations and early morning visits.
She ambled up and down the worn cobblestone streets and past the mansion and to the shoreline and spent every hour waiting.
She sat on the sticky barstools and paced the airy Inn, always restlessly waiting.
After a year, she grew tired of waiting and finally acted.
After a year of strange gifts, awkward conversations, pointless wandering and endless waiting, she quietly removed herself from the situation.
She walked heavily away with wounded pride and a haphazardly pieced heart and never, never ceased her waiting.
This isn't quality, but the idea hit me at midnight and wouldn't let up. Inspired by a line from Auden's 'As I Walked Out One Evening' which reads, "You shall love your crooked neighbor/With your crooked heart." This short thing is concerning Nami in A Wonderful Life and how she leaves if you don't marry her in your first year.