These are the things we live for. To remember. To be remembered. To love. To have been loved.
She closed the cover of the book, letting her eyes scan over the cover for a minute before a sigh escaped her lips. Oh, how she just loved enveloping herself in a good love story. If only she could seem to find herself caught in a love story. Her reality seemingly mirrored to the make believe worlds of her romance novels.
She'd like to believe that she was in her own love story, and maybe it was just taking a little long to get to the big climax. To that moment when he'd sweep her off her feet and into a deep, passionate kiss. Letting the wanting, longing from all of those years, pent up in her little beating heart unleash into the kiss. Lighting it with a fire unmatched by any other.
But alas, maybe it was also just a dream. Some little inkling of hope lost in a world of desire and anguish. A little ember stomped out only by the feet of those who don't believe.
She's like to hope not.
And similarly, he'd like to hope that one day he could give her that kiss. He hoped that he could give her a little taste of her future. If he could make that her future.
He'd like to give her that future, the kind she'd always dreamt of. The kind where she had someone to lean on. Someone to hold her. Him. But then again, it was only a hope. Something to live for. Something to dream of. Something to keep them warm at night until they were able to hold each other. Just something to hope for. Yes, something to live for.