He sought peace in the fishing village. Every day he went down to the river and watched the kids fishing with their traps. Not that he was interested in the fishes, or children, simply they were those stolen moments to distract him.
Then he thought of when he was the boy who was fishing with hook and line, on the banks of another river on the other side of the world. He was back to those happy moments, before marriage, before other happiest moments, before the loss and mourning.
Now existed only the river, the kids, the reflections on the water.
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