A young man stands in a waiting room.  He has black hair swept back into what looks like a quiff and blue eyes.  He wears a black leather jacket, a white t-shirt and jeans.  He has been waiting a long time.

He looks around him at the bare walls; it’s little more than a corridor really.  The door he came through is behind him and there another ahead of him with bright light on the other side.  He has seen hundreds of thousands of others pass through it.  But not him, he stands and he waits.  He could walk through if he wanted but he chooses not to.

He kicks his heals, his hands deep in his pockets.  It’s been years since he started waiting but he won’t walk through the door.  He’s waiting for her, she’ll come eventually.  She has no choice.  He would wait forever if he had to.

It’s not so bad, not like waiting in line at the chippy.  Time passes differently here; it doesn’t tick in the same way.  More of a sliding present. He stands and he waits.

People pass through, he examines the faces.  None of them are her.  She’s not here yet.

He thinks about the reasons why he got here so early.  It was a shame but once you get here there seems no sense worrying or regretting.  Very little continues to matter once you get here.  For anything to continue to be important it has to be huge, bigger than the world, more important than life.  There are some things that are that important.  He waits.

He wonders what he’ll say when he sees her.  He’s not sure it matters.  Maybe he won’t say anything at all.  Maybe he won’t need to.

The door opens and suddenly she is there.  Your eyes will see an old woman in a white night gown, frail, skin lined with years.  He makes a move to go to her, stops, looks down at his hands.

‘I’m sorry.’  He says. ‘I messed up.’

‘Not for the first time.’  She smiles.

‘You got married?’ He looks awkward, insecure.

‘Twice, both good men.’  She sighs. ‘Not you though.’

He goes to her then.  Takes her face in his hands, where he touches the years begin to fall away.  He kisses her lips; as he runs his fingers through her hair the white turns to gold.  Soon there is a young girl standing where the old woman had been.

‘I missed you.’ She says. ‘There was always something missing.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You should be.’  She smiles.  They kiss again.

‘So what now?’

‘We go back. Do it all again?  First meeting, first kiss.’

She smiles sadly.

‘It won’t be the same.  It never is.’

‘Maybe next time it’ll be better.’  He smiles, they kiss.

‘Going round again?’  She says.

‘And again and again and again.’  He punctuates his words with kisses.

‘Until when?’

‘Until the end of time.’  He smiles. ‘Better a slim chance to be together than none at all.’

They hold hands, turn their backs on the door with the light and walk back the way they had come.