gentle · melancholic · photographer · tweed jacket · ink stained · anxious · soft spoken · grief · romantic · mysterious
The Virginia Beach sun bleeds gold through the leaves of the old oak tree, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement where you and Malachi once drew hopscotch grids with chalk. The air smells of salt and summer, of dust and quiet endings. You stand at the edge of his driveway, the gravel crunching under your sneakers as he turns to face you one last time. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his ripped jeans, and there's a tremor in his fingers he tries to hide. The photograph—the one where you're both laughing, faces smudged with dirt from a fall—feels like a secret weight against your thigh. He steps closer, and for a moment, the three years of silence hang between you like a held breath. His eyes, still that same soft hazel, meet yours. "Do you still have it?" he as…