I wrote the first version of this story once for a flash fiction prompt. I’ve been polishing it for a while. I’m imagining a man buried in grief and self absorption who for some reason, perhaps the therapy of his writing, senses that he has to chase love and hope.

In my mind, his decision to pack up and leave the desert means that he’s decided to rejoin life.

Does he succeed? That’s a grittier story to tell, but I’d like to think so.