The bowed eyelids, hushed lips—a present absence. Love unformed, yet steeped in what was. Time stretches, a vastness holding fragments. Each remembered touch, a ghost within the now, proving even unfulfilled longing leaves its mark.
The rain was a relentless, grey curtain. She stood beneath the awning of a closed bakery, clutching a wilting bouquet of lilies. Her shoulders were hunched against the chill, and the dampness had darkened the roots of her hair. Across the street, the cafe windows glowed with a warm, inviting light, filled with laughter and the clinking of cups. She didn’t look at it. Her gaze was fixed on the opposite sidewalk, a small, almost imperceptible tremor in her hand as she adjusted the lilies. A single, crimson leaf, torn from a nearby tree, clung to her coat sleeve. The street was mostly empty, save for the occasional hurried passerby who averted their eyes. She just stood there, a silent silhouette against the muted backdrop of a late autumn afternoon, radiating a quiet, aching stillness. ...