He stood there by the sea, thinking of Teresa – curled on her couch, drinking wine as she read his letters – time and distance polishing his picture-perfect memories like the seashells on the shore.
His eyes turned a deeper shade of blue as he recalled the smallest details about her – cinnamon and coffee and everything that was truly Lisbon. It was at moments like this that he felt he would give anything in the world just to see her again.
Anything, but the revenge that had been ten years in the making.
Still he missed her more with every passing day.