PROMPT: The truth about love.
He raised a calloused hand, weathered by age and hard work, to shield his eyes from the sun and cast a weary glance far into the distance.
Though the days had stretched into years, he knew that some day he would see the figure moving toward him — that familiar gait, though perhaps a little slower for the passage of time — but there he would be… coming home at long last.
Every day the old man stood at the end of his driveway and watched the dusty road with that one hope.
Some day… perhaps today… the prodigal son would return.
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