She slowly trudged across the atrium, her deep eyes gazing out to nothing in particular, as though looking backwards into her mind. She sat down, her manner claiming loneliness and old age. There was no ring on her finger. Was there once? Did she ever long for a golden band to adorn her? Perhaps it is so.

She appears so very lonely. Perhaps the card she asked me to retrieve ... "Thinking of You" ... was a silent wish of a salutation for which she so fervently longs. Her silence breathes sadness as her slow movements indicate a pensive reverence for the moment. Does she have anybody? She appears so alone.

As I speak to her, she seems so very friendly, as though these opportunities are few and far between ... to be cherished. Age breeds memory; memory breeds wisdom; wisdom breeds solemnity. From whence do we glean our discontent?

At times like these, I am reminded of sadness. It is such a mystery, such an enigma. How simple it is to overlook something so simplistic, even childish ... perhaps we ignore such simplicity due to the gravity it entails.

I will never know what emotion my few words and actions brought. As she silently walks away, I know that I will never see her again. I take comfort in what has been done. It is as though there was sincerity in the card I bestowed upon her. Perhaps all she wanted was for someone to think of her.