The Man Under the tree is real!
He found me! Not as a whirlwind or a charming distraction. Not with promises or pressure. He simply came — packed up his life, drove over 600km, and sat beside me… in his own chair, next to mine. No expectations. Just presence. And somehow, that meant everything. I kept thinking about the story we once wrote — about the man under the tree. A soft, imagined figure who might one day show up without noise or chaos. Just a man. A kind soul. Someone who listens. Someone who sees. Well… he came. And now? He’s right here. Sitting beside me in the firelight. Holding my hand, not to claim me — but to simply share the moment. We walk beside each other, not in front or behind. He doesn’t ask me to change my pace. He matches it. We eat ice cream together like children at a roadside stop — him smiling at me like the sweetest flavour he’s tasted is this connection. We think alike. Often without words. The other night, I asked him to listen to my favourite song… and it was the very song he had ...
