(a story for when you return, and no one is waiting..)
She wasn’t sure why she came back..
The path looked the same, but drier now..
The wind familiar, yet it did not know her..
Still, her steps led her again to that cove, where once there had been hope, and voice, perhaps even a together..
The chapel still stood..
Rust-bitten..
Half-forgotten..
As if praying for something that never came..
The sea didn’t welcome her. It struck her..
With wave and salt and memory..
There was no one to see her..
Not him..
Not a letter..
Not even a trace..
And yet.. where pain had taken root in her chest, something whispered inside her..
A strength, not from without, but from within..
It was her..
It was Talitha..
And the chapel was not empty.. It was sacred..
Because right there — where her heart ached most, came the quietest of answers:
She may not have found him..
But she found herself..
And sometimes, that is the miracle..
to be continued..
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