He unfolded the paper and reread it one last time.

You want to move on, I know. But in case somewhere down the road when your mind wanders to past things and you want to remember, I’m leaving the twig on the base of the statue in the park we used to call ours. I know how you loved it – that small, silly representation of first love I broke off from a fledgling tree during our first walk there. Remember how every walk after, we toasted the growing tree with that twig? You can have the symbol of its springtime buds and summer leaves and vivid autumn color and sparkling snow resting on its bare winter branches. You can have the path we traced so many times, the faint sound of timeless music playing at the band shell on the other side of the lake, and the pungent scent of lakeshore. You can have the sunsets so brilliant they make your heart ache.

I’m leaving in the morning. I’ll always hope for your happiness, for good things to come your way, for blessing to meet you on the sidewalk.

He refolded the note, stooped down and slid it under her apartment door. Turning, his form bathed in a sunset of deepest orange and red, he walked away.

Image: Acer_tataricum_twig-wikimedia-commons.jpg; pixabay-sunset-214576_640-CC0-Public-Domain.jpg