His hands settle slowly on a bottle of Scotch
one sip, then another, and the another until he can feel the wait of the world life from his weary shoulders
his eyes glances out the window, certain he would see her there
but they only landed on the headstone across the road(and the he wondered)
can I see her? can she see me?
for the days of his longing have been dreary, and the days of his vigor have been long spent
can I continue to love like this? can I continue to dream?