Later, when the house is still, he steps out onto the porch.
The sky is deep blue now, the last light of the sun slipping beneath the horizon. The sea stretches out before him, calm and endless.
He holds the thermos in his hands, the warmth of the last bit of soup still lingering inside. And for the first time, he lets himself believe - just a little. That maybe, just maybe, love doesn’t disappear.
Maybe it just changes. Maybe it lingers, in the places we return to, in the stories we tell, in the waves that call us back, again and again. And maybe, just maybe - she really was here today.
Even if only for a moment.
