EROS
Some habits creep up on you gradually. You hardly realize they’re taking shape until your day feels incomplete without them. Like how sunset began to symbolize her. It used to simply be my time in the garage, with the door open, the engine exposed, and classical music playing softly in the background.
Routine. But now, nearly every evening, there’s an additional constant. Claire. Her foot has healed, yet she still walks a bit cautiously across the patio just before the sky turns orange. She always passes the fire pit, pausing as if surprised it’s already lit, then settles onto the swing that faces the garden. She never gazes directly at the garage. Not initially. She pretends she’s only there for the sky, for the warmth of the flames, for the roses basking in the day’s last light.
