Once upon a time in Nazi Germany, there were two lovers.
They were young. They were happy. They were in love.
They were also Jews.
But they had a plan, a way to get across the country. To safe land. To a place where they could live their dreams. After months of travelling and hiding, they made it.
The boy had to go back, one last time.
"I have family. They need me," he said.
She didn't say anything, she didn't need to. Her tear filled eyes did the talking.
"I'll come back for you. I promise," he said.
He left. She watched him go.
Life became easier for her after that. In theory. She didn't have to worry about being chased down by officials. But with every day that passed, her heart sank. But her faith never dwindled.
Days turned into months. Months into years.
Everyone that came to her little house at the corner of the street saw what she lived for. Her wait. Her patience. Her eyes. The passage of time.
Years later, he came. He was old. He went to the exact same place he had left her.
He found her.
"I knew you would come," it said on her grave.
