For you see, each day I love you more . Today more than yesterday, and less than tomorrow.
>^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^< >^.^<
“Sir? Are you using this chair?”
Mr. Winchester glanced up at the young man who asked the most absurd question.
“Yes. Yes, of course it’s in use.” His attention focused back to his wife, sitting in the chair. A knowing smile on her porcelain face, almost as if she had a secret. The young man, shooting him a peculiar look, walked away.
Mr. Winchester ignored the all-too familiar reaction. He was used to the looks he received when out with his wife. He figured maybe it was because they didn’t understand what a beautiful woman such as herself, was doing with an old man like him. He took a small sip of his wine.
Like every Tuesday, he and his wife were having lunch on the patio at Bralin’s Café. They had met here 63 years ago. She a young, charismatic journalist and he a shy military man just home from war. From the moment he laid eyes on her he knew she would forever be a part of his life. After all these years she still looked as beautiful as the day they met. Endless honey-colored ringlets framed her pale face, a teasing glint in her bright ocean eyes to match her brilliant smile. She was as radiant as ever.
He’d been married to her for 62 years, his affection for her continuing to grow with each passing day. She was the love of his life, his one true constant. How he loved spending time with her, always engaged in effortless conversation. They could talk for hours. Reminiscing on the past, sharing dreams, and discussing the possibilities of things yet to come. Such a long and fulfilling life they’ve shared.
What a lucky man he was to have some—
“Excuse me, sir?” Said a man, forcing Mr. Winchester to tear his gaze away from her. “May we use this chair?”
Confused, the old man looked back to his wife. She was gone. Missing. Not a remnant of her in sight. Nothing in front of him, but an empty chair. He didn’t understand. Just as he never understood all the times prior. How could this be? She was just—
“Sir?” The man said again, “May we use this chair?”
Mr. Winchester stared at the desolated seat, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He peered at him absently.
“Yes. Yes of course.”