She sits on the bench at the top of the hill and waits.

Everything is silent.

She can see the whole city, but the beautiful view does not affect her.

She wants him to come, but she knows he probably won’t.

The silence is bittersweet; she can relax, but she’d rather hear his voice.

She’d rather feel his hand slip into hers, feel his lips press lightly against her forehead.

But he never comes.

She sits on that bench until the sun goes down, until she shivers in the cold night.

When she finally gets up, she starts to dance.

Twirling in circles, she imagines his arms around her.

She doesn’t need any music.

She only needs him.