He walked this road every evening, never knowing why. The sun always sank the same way — heavy, slow, reluctant to leave the world behind. But this time, the sky was red. Not from light — from something deeper, almost alive.
He felt that tonight would be different. Somewhere ahead, beyond the line of water, waited not an ending, but a beginning — perhaps not even his own. Each step echoed like a quiet memory, each breath smelled of earth that still remembered when everything was simple.
The wind touched his shoulders, as if someone unseen was walking beside him. And then he understood: this road didn’t lead outward, but inward — to the place where the heart finally stops running from itself. Over the water, the last light flared. And he smiled. Because for the first time in a long while — the sky was looking at him the same way he looked at the world.
