Walking into the dark (a drabble)

"Is it lonely?"

"Sometimes," he whispers through a toothy smile.

She studies him. He has the touch of gray and tip-toeing crow’s feet of a man in his early forties, but his energy spoke both of vibrant youth and ancient gravitas.

"Why not use your gaze?" Pointedly, she locks eyes with him.

"The more sand has escaped from the hourglass of our life, the clearer we should see through it."

"How very poetic. What's it mean in this instance?"

"I learned a century ago that asking has better long term potential than taking."

Eventually, she forgets what dawn looked like.