The Heart on the Shore
On the last day of summer, where the world of people ends and the silence of the sea begins, he came alone..
He held a small stick in his hand, simple, almost insignificant, one he had found on their walks, back in that first August, when everything still felt new..
He had kept it without knowing why..
Perhaps because, when he saw her toss it into the air, laughing, he somehow knew that moment would one day slip away..
He knelt upon the damp sand..
The tide was nearing, but in no hurry..
He placed the stick upright, right at the center of a heart he carved with his own hands, a heart not meant to hold on, but to remember..
The sun was shyly setting behind the clouds.. Its light fell directly onto the stick, as if blessing it.. The reflection on the water looked like a blade of light, a beacon for all that was lost, for all that was never said..
Behind him, no one.. Before him, only the sea..
And just beyond, the little island he had once promised they would visit “someday..” They never did..
He lingered there for a while, silent..
There was no need for words..
The sea knew..
The wind had heard their laughter..
The sand had kept the trace of their footprints..
And now, a single small stick stood quietly, not as a call to return, but as a memory, etched into the shore..
to be continued..
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