His heart was caked in heavy rust; tired of being tugged about by conflicting demands, tired of pining for something he did not trust, tired of holding out hope in the bitter cemetery of his dreaming. She brushed past him, eyes dancing with something he reached for. For a moment he saw her as the answer, saw her resplendent with that which he sought. The vision simmered there in his mind; he ached to name it. He could not, and so he answered that flicker with his own dulled and distant fire. When she turned, he had already given up.