How much longer was he going to wait for a miracle that was not going to happen? His beautiful dark-skinned woman was never going to do anything else except walk past his home again. Making him long for the moments that they once shared. He’d considered going downstairs at eleven thirty more times than he could count, but three guesses as to how she would react to him waiting to talk to her at that time of night. He had tried to write her a few times, but he felt as if his penmanship wasn't worthy enough for her or that he just couldn't express how he felt in just a letter. The last thing he wanted to do was somewhat pour his heart out to her to find that she doesn't feel the same way she used to.
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