“Do you believe in angels?”
I don’t have to listen or turn around to receive his response. By now, he’s still scratching a random dog behind the ear, staring at me as if I was nothing but another crazy person roaming the streets. And as far he is concerned, I am. One day, he will answer my question, but today is not that day. No, it will be just like every other one so far. In exactly fifteen seconds, he will get up and walk away, throwing a few breadcrumbs to the pigeons as he goes. He has done this every single day for nearly a year. Three days from now will be our little anniversary. At the very spot where a single bench lies on the top of the Sunset Bridge, the spot behind the place where modern day Romeos and Juliets would jump off the edge together, we said goodbye for the last time. He still sits on that bench every morning at six a.m. exactly, while I stand near the bridge’s rail and face the water. He is waiting for someone, but doesn’t know whom. I know, and would tell him, but he wouldn’t believe me. Because three days from now will be November 30, and on that day, the love of my life forgot who I was.
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