She had been sitting there for half an hour now. Waiting, anticipating his apperance. She patiently acknowledged the smiles and greetings of passers by. She had no watch or knowledge of the time but she knew. This knowing was derived from habit, everyday since the first day he graced her exsistance with enthused acknowledgement of it, she had been transfixed by him. Ever since that day she patiently waited at the bench, the bench he passed every day after work.

Closer to the time she stared becoming fidgety, restless, aprehensive. How did she look? Was he even at work today? Was he sick? It all subsided though, at his apperance but from those rose butterflies who fluttered round her being. She gasped gently and gazed doggedly up at him. His proximity tantalised her. He was so close.

Flowers? She scented them before she saw them. Lillies and roses. Their plastic rustled in the hustle and bustle of the city. They were illuminated by the lights of passing cars. They swayed in agreement to every move he made. She was curious. Honestly she was jelous. Who were they for?

She was not an idiot. She had seen the ring on his finger. The symbol of his undying love for another and she in turn would wear it's counterpart. A ring is round it has no end. That's how long I'll be your friend. The rhyme repeted itself to her again and again. Like a fairy song, tempting her to their realm.

She waited until he was across the road before she stood and waited for another break in the speeding traffic. All the while watching his movements through freeze-frames made by the compulsory breaking space required of the cars. Well, she had to know.

Across the road she easily slipped between the throngs of people on the side walk. She flitted through clusters of business men. Whose jackets and overcoats grazed her sides while she passed by. She had lost sight of him and was eager to regain it. There he was. He slipped around the corner. She followed. He quickened his pace. She was wary. Had he seen her? Was it safe?

He turned up a narrow pathway. The one leading up to the church. He surprised her by ignoring the main entrance and opting instead for an unused track leading to . . . a grassy field? No, a graveyard. Moisture hung heavy on blades of grass and drooping trees kept the only unmodernised space in the city hidden, from those who might wish otherwise.

She kept to the outskirts of the yard watching him carefuly, scared now. He stopped by a grey, limestone grave. He clutched the flowers before setting them down and only for the stillness of the area she might not have heard the "Goodbye" emitted from his lips. She waited for him to begin to leave before she trotted over to inspect the grave.

He turned, there she was again. That dog. It'd been following him everywhere. Poor stray, but now it stood on his wife's grave, staring at the head stone . . . sniffing it. He dashed over and smaked the dog on it's rump. It turned, in shock, to bite him but saved itself at the last and bounded off disappearing into the dusk.