A Postcard That Refused the Mail

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Rafito el Varado arrived at the cove the way punctuation arrives at the end of a sentence—quietly, and without asking permission. The water was so clear it appeared to be thinking about rocks rather than touching them. Houses clung to the cliff as if they had agreed to stay there until the idea of gravity lost interest.

He sat on a warm slab of limestone shaped like a question mark that had given up. Below him, the sea moved in slow edits, revising itself around submerged shelves. Cypress trees stood upright like exclamation points that had learned restraint. Somewhere above, a terrace held tables that knew how to wait.

Rafito removed his shoes and placed them side by side, careful to align their intentions. He dipped his feet into the water. It accepted them without comment. A small school of fish passed, silver commas drifting through a blue paragraph. One fish paused, regarded Rafito briefly, and then continued on, as if deciding he was not essential to the story.

Across the inlet, an arch cut through the cliff like a doorway that had forgotten what it was supposed to lead to. Waves passed through it, arriving as themselves and leaving slightly rearranged. Rafito watched this happen several times, finding it useful without knowing why.

A breeze moved over the shrubs, brushing rosemary and salt into the air. The scent felt organized, as if someone had filed it correctly. Rafito leaned back, letting the sun work on him the way a patient clerk works through a stack of forms—slow, thorough, and unconcerned with applause.

From the village above came the faint sound of dishes, the clink of civilization admitting it was fragile. Rafito stood and walked along the edge of the cove, stepping where the stone had already decided to be safe. He traced the waterline with his shadow, which behaved itself and did not wander.

When the tide shifted, it revealed a flat rock perfectly sized for sitting. Rafito sat there. Nothing announced itself. Nothing concluded. The sea kept revising. The houses stayed put. Rafito remained stranded in the best possible way, like a postcard that had never been sent and therefore never misunderstood.