children's gamesA single white petal drifts towards the soft green ground. He loves me.
The young girl paced along the length of the flowerbed, waiting for him to arrive. She glanced impatiently at her wrist to check just how early she must be, exactly, and realised that she hadn't worn a watch that day. She looked up and judged from the position of the sun high overhead that it must be noon. He would be here soon.
A second one falls. He loves me not.
Where was he? They had agreed on noon, hadn't they? The young woman began wringing her hands as she continued her restless walking, then noticed it and stopped, only to begin twirling a stray lock of hair between her fingers instead.
The small child continues to pluck away at the flower in her hands. He loves me.
She stopped her fervent marching and pushed away those unkind thoughts. He would come, she told herself. He promised. And she believed it. Even though she felt like she was going to wait forever, she made herself stay.