They don’t come home after work, buy you gifts, give you a kiss, or cuddle at night. They don’t tell you nice things, take you exotic places, to dinner, or hold your hand in the movie. They don’t say they love you, hug you, help when you need it or stand by your side in a crowd. They’re not much of a lover, poet, looker or dreamer and it’s been years since you were visible, though content to be alone and on your own. Then just when you’ve become accustomed to being without all these years, one day you may just find yourself glancing up at a stranger for the first time who mustered the courage to say hello when you could not. And at that moment, your imagination of how it’s been safer, better to be alone and unhurt suggests you just might have been mistaken too long. So you fumble a returned hello, an awkward smile, and feel the strange awakening of an ancient hope from where you left it so many years back when it first said hello and last said a cruel goodbye. Maybe, just maybe, you’ve been wrong about love all these years, because love always begins with a hello and never says never, because you’ll never ever know without finding the courage to try again.