Alone.
That word seemed to define him lately. Not just lonely, just alone.
He was always alone.
At the age of 20, alone seemed desirable, if alone mean single. Free to mingle and snog whoever you choose, whenever you choose. But as he approached his thirties, still more single than ever, alone meant just that: alone with no one too sit next to on life's roller coaster.
His hatred towards the definition life had given him grew increasingly with each and every day. But, nothing ever happened. No events were set in motion, and he was still stick in life's waiting line.
He was doomed to this definition for the rest of his life.
Single.
Yes, single. Not married, not dating, but single and looking. The problem is that no one seemed to be looking back.
All of her friends had been married and off the market for years, leaving her with hardly a friend or two interested in spending Saturday nights at a local singles club, not that she ever met anyone worth a second thought in years of Saturday nights she had sadly spent there.
It was always, Hermione, are you seeing someone? Hermione, I have this relative that would be good for you—oh my husband's friend from work—oh shut it. She was tired of all her married friends thinking it was their duty to set her up with someone they or their husbands new since poor, pathetic, Hermione couldn't get a date on her own. She could. Her standards are just too high. Yes, that's it. No one met her standards, she told herself.
By thirty she wanted to be married, and maybe have a kid on the way. Or at least have a dog. But, it was beginning to look like she would never reach that goal.
Hermione looked around her lonely apartment.
She could at least get a dog.