He sits there. Waiting. His heart yearning for her to come. She rarely does. He know she is with another, laughing, touching.

He lights another cigarette. He remembers being here before, loving someone who loved another. Why is he putting himself through this again he wonders to himself.

The sound of the noisy city outside brings no relief from his loneliness. He reaches for the phone again. Again the line is busy. Busy with her happiness, a happiness he himself is denied. The cigarette ash falls to the floor, unnoticed. Sitting back in the armchair, he looks around the dimly lit room and remembers the happy times. A time when she loved only him.

He walks across the smoke filled room and turns off the small desk-top lamp. The room is in darkness but for the patchwork of shadows cast by the light from the brightly lit city. He puts the glass to his lips and finishes the drink that he had found to be a good friend. Without a sound he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.



A phone rings in an empty room, next to it sits an empty glass. No one answers it.



EPILOGUE : He had said he would always be there for her. He now realised she had taken him for a fool and she would always pursue her own pleasures regardless of the the damage she left in her wake. The house still lies empty and locked, a monument to his foolish belief that she had once loved him.