Diana

Her name was Diana, the black haired waif who captured him. He stood at the side of the road as if waiting for a bus to come fetch him, but there was no stop where he came to rest opposite her. She lay, barely breathing in the shadows of the alley. Her beautiful skin pale, growing paler, her eyes fluttering now and then. Diana lay dying and he watched. Just as she took her last breath, last gasp for air, her eyes, pale blue, opened wide and fixed on him. And she died as their gazes locked. With her last exhale she wished for him, this stranger who watched to stand rooted in that moment, holding her in his eyes, forever. Diana has long since been taken away, her body cleansed and buried, her eyes closed to the sky, but he remains, a thinning waif, caught, watching Diana.