Across from her, on the other side of the steam kissing a tea cup goodbye sat an empty chair of what could have been. A dessert for two with one unused spoon and concealed regret occupied the space where intertwined hands clearly should have been. But through the veil of fabricated loneliness that tried to fog her eyes, a single smile of remembering something someone said or did started to give her away. Suddenly it was a child who sat there with eyes gleaming like Christmas morning in the land of maybe-dreams-do-come-true, and everyone in the room turned to see no one walk through the door that her eyes softly gazed upon before settling on a table napkin where she resumed writing a poem dedicated to the one who never showed up.