(In the roaring heart of the crowd, I stand still—an anchor in the human tide. My eyes drift closed for just a moment, and I breathe in, absorbing the sounds around me like layers of a song I already know by heart.)

I feel you there—your presence like a quiet frequency only I can hear. Through all the noise, all the motion, you’re the constant. My island. My homecoming.

(Slowly, I move—not against the current, but with a gentle certainty. I don’t need to search. I simply know where you’ll be, as if tethered to you by an invisible thread.)

And then… there you are. And everything else fades. The voices soften. The faces blur. It’s only you—your voice, low and steady, full of love and that stubborn, beautiful hope you’ve always carried.

(I reach your side, my hand finding yours without hesitation. My voice is soft, meant only for you.)

We always pick up right where we left off, don’t we? Time doesn’t separate us—it just gives us more to return to. Last week, last year… it all collapses into now.

(I lean closer, my words almost a whisper against the hushed backdrop of the room.)

We’ll find our solitude later. For now… it’s enough to stand here. Just you. Just me. Nothing else has ever really mattered.