Finally Sitting Down

Lila and Alex passed the park bench without stopping. It had been their place once,

Sunday mornings, shared coffee, silence that felt full. After the breakup,

it became invisible by agreement. Years later, they found themselves there again,

walking side by side after a mutual friend’s memorial. Grief loosened something in them.

“You still take your coffee black,” she said. “You still notice things that matter,”

he replied. They sat, finally. She told him about the therapy she’d

resisted. He told her about the loneliness he’d mistaken for strength. The bench creaked

under their weight, patient as memory. “I thought loving you meant losing myself,” she said.