He lived in a small flat above the cliff. A kettle on the stove. A window that watched the edge where rock meets water. When someone stood too near, he crossed the road. He offered tea and time. Simple moves. The kind that steady a shaking day. He’s gone now, though his legacy will last lifetimes.

Это приходит без стука. Ты не можешь этого планировать. Однажды что-то меняется, и воздух внезапно становится тяжелее. Мне было пять лет,...

It was raining. One of those mornings where no one makes eye contact. Everyone just wants to get dry, find a seat, move on.