The light that never went out.

"Love never dies - it just becomes a silence that stays with us forever."

The old man sat in the park at the same time every day.

Not because he had a program, but because there was a place left that his memories still found.

There was a bench.

Nothing special.

It was made of wood, a little worn, one of the armrests was cracked.

But on that bench, he once sat next to someone who could no longer sit.

They didn't talk much that last day.

There was no big goodbye, no dramatic sentence.

Just silence.

And one hand that touched the other for a moment.

He sat there every afternoon since then.

He didn't cry.

He didn't complain.

He just watched the light filter through the trees, the leaves tremble, the laughter of children run through the square.

A little boy once asked him:

– Uncle, who are you waiting for?

The old man smiled.

– I'm not waiting. I remember.

– And doesn't that hurt?

He was silent for a while, then he answered:

– Yes. But pain means that there was someone to love. And the gift.

The little boy didn't quite understand.

All he saw was that there was not darkness in the old man's eyes, but some kind of warm light.

When it was evening, the old man stood up, stroked the bench as if touching a shoulder, and said quietly:

– You were here today too.

The park emptied.

The bench remained empty.

But something remained in the air that cannot be photographed.

The memory of presence.

The imprint of love.

A light that did not go out – it just moved into silence.

And whoever once truly loved will never be alone on the bench.

Because in the silence, the one who can no longer be lost is always there with you.