I’m sitting on the patio with a cup of coffee and a square of chocolate, taking in the ghosts of the departed. Two chairs are where they left them, close to one side of the table, both for shade and conversation under the umbrella. A short distance away, an ashtray now empty, rests on a small yellow table next to his chair. On the other side, two chairs facing each other. One to sit on, the other to prop up her feet.
A whispered echo and the less fragrant ambiance accompany a satisfying comfort. I breathe in deeply because I’m home. I exhale sighing because they are missed. It’s okay. They all promised to be back.