Fruitless waiting

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Even though he knew he would not make it,
I looked forward to the evening with hope.
My heart beating with joy,
dreaming that love would not delay.
When the waitress approached
to take my delicate order
in a mournful voice I asked her for
two cups of coffee,
the same as that beloved one.
The same aroma of our initial rendezvous,
reliving the magical and immortal moment.
Clinging to the illusion of his return,
I would wait for him until the last ray of sunshine.