Sign
With every flick of the weathervane, with every slight breeze that passed him by, Bert felt his heartrate quicken. He would stand still, his whistling halting as he strained to listen, to feel. To find the slightest hint that it was today. But often, it wouldn't be true and he would continue on his way, his spirits faltering with each step.
With every shadow that lingered on his chalk drawings, with every whistle of a bird that seemed to be in response to a bright tune, Bert would pause. His head flicking upward with a force that made his neck ache. Bright smile ready for whoever was standing there. But it was rarely the person he thought it was.
The flash of a white glove left on a pavement, a collection of daises that a child carried from the park, and the squawk of a parrot from the window of an elderly woman's apartment. Bert could not bear it. He was equally enraptured and despondent at the thought of it all.
But, when he felt that his heart could not take another day without his beloved, he felt the breeze against his ankles, against the nape of his neck. As if it was a tune from a song that he could never forget, a slight tug to the way it coursed around him. And Bert was running. Faster than he should, knowing she wouldn't be pleased. But he couldn't bring himself to care.
Skidding around a corner and rapping loudly on the door of a slim house in the middle of an alley. She opened the door, brow raised, but smiling as idiotically as he.
"Oh, Mary! You're 'ome!"
"Yes, I believe I..."
She exclaimed loudly as he took hold of her waist, lifting her in the air and spinning her around. Mary might have chastised him if she wasn't kissing him, though she supposed that was his fault. He didn't need to say how much he missed her; she could feel it in his touch.