You In Montevideo — See

He shrugged, a small, helpless gesture. “Then I would have sat here until the end of the month. And then I would have gone back to my room and waited for whatever comes next.”

An hour passed. Then two. The sun began to sink, the light softening into amber and rose. The fishermen packed up their gear and went home. Couples strolled past, their voices low and intimate. A street vendor selling churros called out to passersby in a singsong voice.

She felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be. See You in Montevideo

She thought about what she would say if she went to the rambla and found him there. Hello, Mateo. It’s been a while. No. You bastard. You broke my heart. No. I forgave you a long time ago. That wasn’t true, either.

She sat down. The concrete was warm beneath her. She watched the water, the endless grey-brown expanse of it, and she waited. He shrugged, a small, helpless gesture

“How long have you been here?” she asked.

I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m not even asking for a reply. But I made a promise to you once, a long time ago, and I broke it. I told you I’d see you in Montevideo, and then I didn’t show up. I’ve carried that with me longer than I’ve carried anything else. Then two

So this is me, finally showing up. Late. Too late, probably. But I’ll be here. At the bench on the rambla, the one just past the old pier, every evening until the end of the month. I’ll be the old man with the grey beard and the bad leg, staring at the water like he’s waiting for a ghost.