Sometimes he thinks he sees her. For a fleeting moment she will appear on the other side of the street; just as beautiful as he remembers her. His precious Rose…
But before he could reach her, before he could even whisper her name, she dissapears. It happens again and again, on different planets, at different times, untill he admits quietly to himself that he’s gone mad.
It’s easier than that flicker of hope that burns both of his hearts. Because he knows, that in the end of the day, he has no right for happiness. He’s just a madman with a box, always running, always leaving a mess behind. It’s his curse.