He opened the little note she left by the table near the door. "You make me feel small when you're near me". Her coat still laying in the sofa, her warmth still haunting it. He left without even refilling his precious coffee mug, without reading the regular morning headlines, without taking the soothing hot morning bath he worshiped. By the shore he found her, by the shore she cried. "You make me feel small when you're near me" she uttered under her cold visible breath, a tear to make her colder inside, to make the words pierce harder. "You make me feel big when you're near me" he finally opened without any fear of rejection, without any fear of deception.
If you want me to break down and give you the keys I can do that but I can’t let you leave.
The morning shoreline witnessed the purification of words, the final retraction of hurts, the forever mysterious way of redeeming love. It witnessed us.
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