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The Marriage of Mole
For some years before his marriage the mold of solitude had invaded his life as none, nor manner of species had imagined, and he was neither content nor displeasured by the turn of events. There were just moments of solitude where he became remorse, but not angry with his situation. A few times during each week he cried, as a child without the quilt of an adult, but these moments were of not panged or anguish; not such that he released the pains that buried deeply in his heart.
The days of his lonely existence began with a modest breakfast a slice of toast, one fried egg, and a sliver of ham that he purchased each Sunday morning. There were not special moments that he shared with anyone. He sat with his back against the wall and stared at nothing in particular. The morning came as it should and so he gathered himself and cleaned the few dishes before returning to his bedroom for a shower. He paused long enough in the parlour to watch the people pass in front of his apartment.
Today he would meet Svetlana, as he promised, and muster the courage to ask her what he had so wanted for many months. He would propose a question, in hopes that she would be so inclined to consider his request. This was his chance to learn if her affections were true, and if she would become his wife.
