Dylan and I sat on our usual bench as the sun began to set, and he said softly, “If this is one of our last ones, I’m glad I’m watching it with you.”
I turned my head toward him. “Don’t say it like that.”
“I’m not being dramatic,” he answered. “I’m being honest. We’ve had more sunsets than most people get. I’m grateful for every single one that still includes you.”
I reached for his hand. His fingers closed around mine the same way they had for decades. “I’m glad it’s you too.”
We sat in silence for a while, watching the light change across the garden. The oak tree cast long shadows. The fountain made its quiet sound. Everything felt familiar and fragile at the same time.
“Do you ever think about how much we’ve forgotten?” I asked.
“All the time,” he said. “I forget the exact words o
