The trees you both planted stand tall, their leaves whispering with the wind. Your legs rest gently on his thigh as you weave your fingers through his hair, his voice reading aloud from a poem—each word tangled in the old English that’s still foreign to you.

“Thou dost not understand...” His words linger, heavy with unspoken meaning.

He shifts, his hand tightening on the paper as his eyes meet yours, searching, yet distant.

“The world still calls for us... yearning for what we were.”

He falls silent for a moment, the air thick with the weight of eternity.

“Yet we are but echoes now, lost in the myth they’ll never fully know.”