The minutes turned to months and the months to years far faster than he ever imagined they could.
That is because time is a fickle beast that knows how to make it feel as if 60 seconds are a true blink or an eternity.
The conversations had restarted between them and though he wanted to view them as being the launching pad to his great desire he refused to allow that thought entry.
Better to have no expectations that could lead to disappointment. Easier not to have hope dashed because if lightning struck yet again he could enjoy the surprise that much more.
Still he would never lie and say that tendrils of hope didn’t occasionally try to push their roots into soil.
Words Left Unwritten 