A thousand moons have gone by, but the smell of her lingers, filling the nights with a fragrance of hope. A hope that grows, never fades, even in the face of darkness that otherwise shrouds his life.He does not remember much nowadays, life is but a blur. Alzheimers, they call it. On the old rickety chair in the porch, he sits in evenings, looking into the rolling fields dotted by the glow of the fireflies and then suddenly he hears her voice, oh her sweet voice, and something in his soul stirs. He feels his heart beating. He calls out to the night, her name on his lips, her smell filling his being.

Nothing.

He knows she is calling out to him. And as he recedes into the chair and his thoughts fade slowly, he smiles. A smile of hope, for he knows soon, he will be with her. 

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