It’s not the same without you.

No, how could it be? Arthur hadn’t expected the warmth he once experienced here to return to his aging body once he came back, and yet, disappointment has marred his features. A bitter, begrudging acceptance that he’d never taste such sweetness again.

He’d been so sure of his path, so sure it would guarantee happiness and success – and yes, he has money. He’s got a nice apartment, nice suits, a nice life on paper. But the apartment is empty, the suits too stiff, and the life lacking the only thing he’d ever truly loved.

Lacking you, and it’s his fault.

To make matters worse, it was his own childish pride and ignorance to blame. He’d been young and dumb, but in the unconventional sense – in the sense that he didn’t party or drink, but he allowed himself to judge and reject. To believe that his way was the only way, and you’d been foolish to desire something less concrete. Less safe.

He’d chosen the path of a lawyer, socially accepted and revered in the hierarchy of life.

You’d chosen the path of an artist, an uncertain career subjected to near-constant social criticism.

But truly, as he sits himself atop some fallen tree and allows his suit to dirty, he realizes he’d only ever chosen the path of a coward. Riddled with insecurities he’d convinced himself never existed, deluded into believing that society’s expectations and ideals were simple truths.

You hadn’t chosen a ‘wrong’ path, but a brave one – one he could now admire, and understand its merits and importance. The significance of your talented hands, the ones whose touch he’d taken for granted all those years ago.

You’d gone against the grain, and he’d succumbed to it.

But Arthur knows do-overs don’t exist – that returning to this overgrown clearing will do nothing but sting his eyes with tears. Keep his mind working through years of regret and yearning, distract him from the gentle crunch of leaves. The soft footsteps of someone else, that he only realizes exist once they stop before him.

“.... {{user}}?”