As he keenly listened, her eyes filled with tears. A spontaneous embrace emerged. They shared nothing. Or, at least that’s what they thought. Not just the red bodily fluid nurturing their estranged anatomy, but a common belief joined them: “It’s never going to be like before” he said. She stared, in hopes that her wishful thoughts would prove him wrong. “It’s been 50 years, Rubin, of course it won’t.” “Let’s just keep on reading,” Rubin replied. Rain came pouring down, and it felt like they were drowning inside four deserted walls. He stared at the window, maybe that would grant his gloomy aura a breather. For a moment, he remembered what his grandmother used to say: “Hope is for people who live without grace.” “What good would it serve me if I have no freedom,” he mused out loud. Minerva kept reading aloud, despite the empathy she felt for him: “The winds blew her away...and this time destiny would find her ever so grounded, no need for comfort.” “Seems like she proved you wrong,” Minerva whispered in his ear ever so lightly. Rubin sighed, for younger days gone by. “Well, she has always been my muse,” he replied. “Water, earth, fire, air, all you can ever yearn from love, she had, and one remained with the desire to see the bright in her eyes,” Rubin exclaimed. “Even snowflakes get tired of being perfect all the time...” said Minerva.