This Woman Named Hannah

She used to contemplate the horizon for hours, alone on that small but comfortable bench, waiting to see the beautiful and eternal sunset. Perhaps this woman named Hannah could say so.

One ordinary day she found herself there, sad and lonely, with a lost gaze, reviewing in her mind over and over again the countless occasions when ungrateful and unworthy beings broke her fragile heart with their love.

But that didn’t matter—she kept waiting for some “Prince Charming,” a prince who only exists in the stories they told her as a child. She didn’t know it; simply anyone, really. Who it was mattered least.

She only needed someone to approach her, sit beside her, take her hand and make her feel she wasn’t alone—someone to occupy the empty space on the bench and contemplate with her that moment when the sun hides behind the finite but unreachable line that separates earth from sky.

In that moment Hannah thought:

In that perfect instant where she feels free, she closes her eyes and opens her mind—an open mind, full of blank and incomplete pages seeking ways to finish those stories and write new ones. Stories with memories, with tears of pain and joy, and her heart beats so fast it cuts her breath. Seconds pass slower and slower until reaching the point where there’s no time, space, or reality—that precise trance where her soul and body can only think of love.

It wasn’t madness that invaded her; it was loneliness… This woman named Hannah was simply waiting for someone to sit beside her and discover the perfect way to say, I love you.