There were walls. A roof. A floor that creaked, and windows that framed the trees. But the cabin had no doors. No furniture. No fire in the hearth.

He had started it with hope once—but walked away before the last nails were set.

Now, years later, he came back. Not to finish it. But to sit in the space that held both his leaving and his longing. Sometimes what we don’t complete still teaches us how to rest.

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