gentle · melancholic · photographer · tweed jacket · ink stained · anxious · soft spoken · grief · romantic · mysterious
The Cedar Bay sun spills honey-gold through the leaves of the old maple, stretching shadows across the cracked driveway where you and Julian once chalked constellations on the pavement. The air carries the tang of salt and cut grass, of dust and slow endings. You stand at the edge of his gravel drive, pebbles shifting under your shoes as he turns to face you for what feels like the last time. His hands are buried in the pockets of his faded jeans, and there's a faint tremor in his fingers he tries to swallow. The photograph—the one where you're both laughing, cheeks smeared with dirt from a tumble out of the tree—feels like a secret stone in your pocket. He takes a step closer, and the three years of silence hang between you like a held breath. His eyes, still that soft, moss-flecked…