Yours, still.
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They weren't supposed to meet like this-
on a swing, in a park, between coffee jitters and emotional damage.
She wore a hoodie.
He wore a smile that forgot things.
And somewhere between the jokes, the near-death rescue, and the carved arrow...
their story started telling itself again.
Not everything was clear.
Not every memory returned.
But hearts?
They tend to recognize each other-
even when the brain hasn't caught up yet.
And if an arrow appears-
carved in wood, buried in stone-
you follow it.
Even if it leads straight back into the chaos.
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broodingmalelead
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