The Bench

Dear Jack,

It isn't fair. You were supposed to have more sunsets, more arguments about the perfect cup of coffee, more stories of Katherine. But I guess... I guess none of us get to choose our ending. Thank you. For the colors, for the laughter, for showing me that it's all worth it, even if it hurts, even if it ends. And, and I'm sorry. Sorry I wasn't a better student. I'll try. I'll keep trying, I promise.

Love, Emily

She tore the page out with a shaking hand. Folding it carefully, almost reverently, she slid it under the farthest edge of the bench. It felt small, inadequate, but it was all she had. A goodbye for a man who had taught her that sometimes, the most profound things could only be lived, not spoken.

As she walked away, a lone pigeon landed on the bench, wings fluttering. She allowed herself one last glance back. The folded letter was gone, perhaps carried away by an unnoticed breeze, a final fleeting moment to be witnessed by the open, changing sky.