Wait
Amarxlen
He waits there on that bridge.
He's there everyday.
He waits there in the rain, snow, or hail.
The weather doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter either, that the person he's waiting for didn't show up yesterday, or the day before that, and probably won't show up today.
His head darts up, sure the sound of crunching dirt means that he's coming.
The quick glance he gives is rewarded by a smile, and he doesn't need to look any longer to know it's the wrong person.
He doesn't need to keep looking to know her smile will fall as she walks closer to him.
With a near silent sigh she stops next to him, flopping over the railing and brushing bubblegum strands out of her face.
And for a while they just stand there in companionable silence, hearing what they can't put in words.
Until his head darts up again, sure the dark blur of movement means that he's coming.
The longer glance he gives is rewarded with a nonchalant wave, and quickly he looks down, disappointed again at the wrong person.
Without looking, he knows that the hand will drop and find refuge in a deep pocket.
With no sound, just the crunching of dirt he knows could be silent if the newcomer wished it, he leans on the railing and pulls out a familiar orange book.
The trio stands there until the sun sets and their village is shrouded in darkness, waiting in silence for the missing fourth piece that will never come.