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Description
       Eleanor wrapped her scarf tighter around her as she walked home in the bitter cold. The usual surge of sadness overcame her as she passed The Church. Once magnificent in its early days, the building now stood alone, shabby, and almost empty, even without a proper name anymore - everyone referred to it simply as "The Church."
       An odd crunching noise caused Eleanor to look down. The old, cracked sidewalk was covered in rice thrown at a wedding earlier that day. Another small pang of grief struck Eleanor. She pictured the young, happy couple being greeted by their friends as they left the church to start their new lives together. Doing the best to brush these thoughts from her, Eleanor quickened her pace as she continued her journey home.
       Finally, Eleanor unlocked the front door to her home on Penny Lane. She removed her hat and scarf and coat and began bustling with her usual evening routine. She put a fresh pot of water on the stove to boil and carefully selected two of her nicest cups and saucers from the cupboard. She made sure every napkin and placemat was perfectly straight on the table and lit two candles on either end before rushing upstairs to her bedroom.
       Excitement filled Eleanor as she pulled on her favorite ball gown. This confused her greatly, because this was something she did every evening with the exact same result. But, for some reason unknown to her, this night felt different. She studied herself in the mirror for a few minutes. Her dress was a lovely shade of light blue that brought out her eyes and nicely accompanied her fair skin. However, even in her elegant gown and makeup, Eleanor still saw herself as a very plain-looking woman.
       She sat herself at the window sill and watched the quite street expectantly. After a short while, she let her eyes wander up towards the heavens and counted the stars. Then, she slowly drifted off to sleep.

       Father McKenzie cut the thread from the final sock as he set his needle down to admire his work. He'd never had a steady hand, but, in his mind, poorly mended socks were better than holey socks. He chuckled at his own little pun.
       Sighing, the priest picked up his battered notebook and reread his words. He was relatively pleased with this sermon, but he still couldn't figure out how to end it. The lecture was about loneliness and how to overcome it. He often wished he could go back many years and use his own advice.
       As he pondered over his closing statements, Father McKenzie's thoughts slipped into the days before he entered the priesthood. He remembered how it felt when she touched him, and how happy he was just to hear her voice every morning. Even today, he still dreamt of the day he was called into the ministry and was forced to turn her away. She said she was happy for him, but he could hear her sobbing when he left the room.
       He saw her every Sunday since then. She sat at the very back of the sanctuary in the shadows. He wondered if she thought about him as often as he still thought about her, even after all these years. He longed to speak to her, maybe even invite her to coffee after the service, but she was always the first to leave The Church, before Father McKenzie could make his way to the doors to greet the other members of his congregation.

       Eleanor woke with a start. The sun was shining down on her through the window. Her dress was a wrinkled mess, and her makeup stained her cheeks. She was so sure last night was going to be different...she just knew that he was going to come. She began to cry.
       Finally, after what seemed like forever, Eleanor forced herself to get up, change back into normal clothes, and go downstairs. Her water for tea was cold, and the candles had burned down to practically nothing. She was surprised she hadn't burned the house down yet. It had been years since he left her, but every night she followed the same routine with the hope that he would leave the life he chose and come back to her. She tried to move on, but she couldn't learn to love another man.
       It was only Tuesday, but she decided to visit The Church anyway. No one would be there, but it was always unlocked. Eleanor was never really a religious person, but she could always find peace at The Church.
       She sat in her usual seat in the very back, where she would watch the priest give his sermon every Sunday morning. She felt invisible there, like she probably was to him. She laid her head down on the pew and reminisced about her lost love.

       The older he got, the colder the winters felt to Father McKenzie. He thought about this as he walked down the snowy street to The Church Thursday afternoon. He still didn't have a conclusion for his sermon, and he was hoping the old building might provide inspiration.
       As he entered the sanctuary, he inhaled deeply. One could almost smell the history of the entire town and its people. He placed his hand on the first pew, and thought of the people who sat there every Sunday. He proceeded to do this with every pew in the room. He knew every name and face in his congregation, and they all adored him for his stories and weekly spiritual lessons.
       Father McKenzie let his hand rest a few extra minutes on the last pew. He was thinking about how he could escape the pulpit early to meet her at the door when he noticed someone curled up on the bench in the shadow. Cautiously, he approached them. He immediately recognized her, though this was the first time in years he had been this close to her. Though she was obviously aged and weathered, he still found her as beautiful as she was the day he left her.
       He watched her resting peacefully, until he finally noticed she seemed possibly a bit too still. He carefully picked up her wrist, and felt no pulse.

       Father McKenzie crossed himself and wiped the dirt from his hands on his robes. He was the only witness at the burial, for she had had no friends or family. No one even remembered her name, so something else was inscribed on the cold tombstone. They were two lines discovered on a bronze plaque in the woman's house. As the priest read them, he found the closing for his sermon.

All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?

Description
       Eleanor wrapped her scarf tighter around her as she walked home in the bitter cold. The usual surge of sadness overcame her as she passed The Church. Once magnificent in its early days, the building now stood alone, shabby, and almost empty, even without a proper name anymore - everyone referred to it simply as "The Church."
       An odd crunching noise caused Eleanor to look down. The old, cracked sidewalk was covered in rice thrown at a wedding earlier that day. Another small pang of grief struck Eleanor. She pictured the young, happy couple being greeted by their friends as they left the church to start their new lives together. Doing the best to brush these thoughts from her, Eleanor quickened her pace as she continued her journey home.
       Finally, Eleanor unlocked the front door to her home on Penny Lane. She removed her hat and scarf and coat and began bustling with her usual evening routine. She put a fresh pot of water on the stove to boil and carefully selected two of her nicest cups and saucers from the cupboard. She made sure every napkin and placemat was perfectly straight on the table and lit two candles on either end before rushing upstairs to her bedroom.
       Excitement filled Eleanor as she pulled on her favorite ball gown. This confused her greatly, because this was something she did every evening with the exact same result. But, for some reason unknown to her, this night felt different. She studied herself in the mirror for a few minutes. Her dress was a lovely shade of light blue that brought out her eyes and nicely accompanied her fair skin. However, even in her elegant gown and makeup, Eleanor still saw herself as a very plain-looking woman.
       She sat herself at the window sill and watched the quite street expectantly. After a short while, she let her eyes wander up towards the heavens and counted the stars. Then, she slowly drifted off to sleep.

       Father McKenzie cut the thread from the final sock as he set his needle down to admire his work. He'd never had a steady hand, but, in his mind, poorly mended socks were better than holey socks. He chuckled at his own little pun.
       Sighing, the priest picked up his battered notebook and reread his words. He was relatively pleased with this sermon, but he still couldn't figure out how to end it. The lecture was about loneliness and how to overcome it. He often wished he could go back many years and use his own advice.
       As he pondered over his closing statements, Father McKenzie's thoughts slipped into the days before he entered the priesthood. He remembered how it felt when she touched him, and how happy he was just to hear her voice every morning. Even today, he still dreamt of the day he was called into the ministry and was forced to turn her away. She said she was happy for him, but he could hear her sobbing when he left the room.
       He saw her every Sunday since then. She sat at the very back of the sanctuary in the shadows. He wondered if she thought about him as often as he still thought about her, even after all these years. He longed to speak to her, maybe even invite her to coffee after the service, but she was always the first to leave The Church, before Father McKenzie could make his way to the doors to greet the other members of his congregation.

       Eleanor woke with a start. The sun was shining down on her through the window. Her dress was a wrinkled mess, and her makeup stained her cheeks. She was so sure last night was going to be different...she just knew that he was going to come. She began to cry.
       Finally, after what seemed like forever, Eleanor forced herself to get up, change back into normal clothes, and go downstairs. Her water for tea was cold, and the candles had burned down to practically nothing. She was surprised she hadn't burned the house down yet. It had been years since he left her, but every night she followed the same routine with the hope that he would leave the life he chose and come back to her. She tried to move on, but she couldn't learn to love another man.
       It was only Tuesday, but she decided to visit The Church anyway. No one would be there, but it was always unlocked. Eleanor was never really a religious person, but she could always find peace at The Church.
       She sat in her usual seat in the very back, where she would watch the priest give his sermon every Sunday morning. She felt invisible there, like she probably was to him. She laid her head down on the pew and reminisced about her lost love.

       The older he got, the colder the winters felt to Father McKenzie. He thought about this as he walked down the snowy street to The Church Thursday afternoon. He still didn't have a conclusion for his sermon, and he was hoping the old building might provide inspiration.
       As he entered the sanctuary, he inhaled deeply. One could almost smell the history of the entire town and its people. He placed his hand on the first pew, and thought of the people who sat there every Sunday. He proceeded to do this with every pew in the room. He knew every name and face in his congregation, and they all adored him for his stories and weekly spiritual lessons.
       Father McKenzie let his hand rest a few extra minutes on the last pew. He was thinking about how he could escape the pulpit early to meet her at the door when he noticed someone curled up on the bench in the shadow. Cautiously, he approached them. He immediately recognized her, though this was the first time in years he had been this close to her. Though she was obviously aged and weathered, he still found her as beautiful as she was the day he left her.
       He watched her resting peacefully, until he finally noticed she seemed possibly a bit too still. He carefully picked up her wrist, and felt no pulse.

       Father McKenzie crossed himself and wiped the dirt from his hands on his robes. He was the only witness at the burial, for she had had no friends or family. No one even remembered her name, so something else was inscribed on the cold tombstone. They were two lines discovered on a bronze plaque in the woman's house. As the priest read them, he found the closing for his sermon.

All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?