. . . he had not moved for a long, long time. The television flickered in the periphery of his vision. What sounds there were came from passing taxis, their wheels spoiling the stillness of the swelling puddles.
He lay still a while longer and let his thoughts drift across his mind. Everything he was feeling was new. And that was just fine, he realised. What had been, need be that way no longer.
There was no epiphany, no jerking realisation. Just love, tenderness, and laughter.
Nothing would ever be the same. It would only just be . . .