Corridor love

Two smiles, two hearts fluttering. 

Weekly, it's the same time, same two, same old. The briefest of happiness lasts a day, two days. A week just replenishes.

Then, he's gone, gone a week, gone a month. She wonders, worries, weighs the possibilities.

Three months later, he stands there, thinner, older. A younger lady holds his arm. She dies a little inside, taking a breath that rattles her ribcage. He smiles, barely.

"How have you been?" She asks, gently. "I'm fine," he rasps, "but I've been better." She lets him hobble away.

Next week, two smiles, two hearts flutter still.