Still Here (In Case You Are)

Dear Cenatrui,

I’m here.
Same bench. Same time.
Wind’s putting on a show again—
rustling the trees like it knows something I don’t.

I keep looking up when the leaves shift.
Half-hoping it’s you.
Half-wondering if the squirrels are judging me again
for being this soft in public.

I brought the letter. Didn’t mean to.
Didn’t mean to write again.
But this place doesn’t let me leave quiet.

The ache showed up early tonight,
dragging all its usual questions.
The ones that sound like your voice
and feel like you standing just out of sight.

If you were here, I wouldn’t make it a big thing.
I’d just slide over,
pat the spot beside me,
and say,
“Took you long enough, didn’t it?”

No demands.
No speeches.
Just space.
And maybe a quiet grin that means:
I never stopped hoping.

So if you’re near—
if any part of you is still tuning in—
just know:
I’m still here.
Still writing.
Still choosing you.

Even if the squirrels think I’ve completely lost it.

 Yours, Always,

Castor