December 21st. The solstice. Eleanor walked alone to St. Stephen’s Green. The daffodil’s spot was bare earth now, frozen and dark. She sat on the same bench and pulled out her phone. A message from Fintan: “Meet me at the Christmas market at 5. Bring gloves.”
“They always come back,” said a voice. four seasons dublin
“I—yes. In the park.”
She thought of the old man on the bench. They always come back. But not the ones you chase. The ones who find you while you’re living. December 21st