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He walked toward the station, retracing the path they used to take to the sea. Every corner held a ghost: the bakery where they bought warm simit, the bench where they watched the autumn rain. He reached the end of the pier where the land simply stopped. There was nowhere left to walk in the past. The familiar path had reached its natural conclusion.

Selim sat in the corner of the "Siyah Beyaz" café, the same place where he and Elif had spent three years tracing patterns on mahogany tables. Before him lay a leather-bound notebook—the poem he had been writing since the day they met. The ink on the final page was still wet. The Poem Ends He walked toward the station, retracing the path

Or perhaps you'd like a to use as a caption? There was nowhere left to walk in the past