Like You Said -

Leo sat on the same sagging porch swing where they had spent every Tuesday night for three years. In his hand was a postcard from Elias, postmarked from a city Leo had only seen in movies. It was filled with descriptions of cobblestone streets and espresso that tasted like "liquid sunlight." At the very bottom, in Elias’s familiar, loopy scrawl, were the words: It’s just like you said it would be.

Those five words were a gut punch. Leo was the one who had researched the flights, mapped out the museums, and saved every spare cent in a glass jar labeled "Our Great Escape." He was the one who had described the sunlight in that specific city, having memorized every travel blog post he could find. But when the jar was finally full, Elias had taken the money and the dream, leaving Leo behind with nothing but the porch swing and a half-empty house. Like You Said

Leo looked at the jar, now holding only a few stray pennies and a button. He realized that Elias wasn’t just living the dream; he was using Leo's words to narrate it. Elias had always been a mirror, reflecting Leo’s passion because he had none of his own. "Like you said" wasn't a tribute; it was a confession that Elias was still just following a script he didn't write. Leo sat on the same sagging porch swing