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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