#1274

Lay down your head, my love. Close your eyes. Leave your worries and fears behind; take your spirit away from this place for a few heartbeats at least. Hear not the low roar of traffic, but the soft susurration of waves along the shore. Taste not the unsatisfying dinner, but the crisp salt tang of a Pacific autumn. Feel not worn blankets or broken springs, but the cool breeze toying with your hair, tugging at your clothes. And see not the walls, the city, the limitations all around you, but the gray ocean, the gray horizon, the weathered cabin nestled against dune grass and hunched pines. This place isn’t ours just yet, though it can be. It will be. So for the time being allow yourself to imagine these things: the driftwood steps leading from shifting beach to sturdy land; the creaking porch boards welcoming you home; the sweet spiced candles drawing you inside. Imagine my waiting arms and the cup of tea, thick with milk and honey, that I press into your hand. You are safe here. We are together here. Let this place be our haven, if only in dreams and longings. For now, at least, it’s something.

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