Sailing

Writing has always been easier for me when I’m sad – so I haven’t been writing much lately.

In fact, I don’t write much at all anymore. I don’t daydream and I don’t fantasize like I used to.

I think it’s because I am living my fantasy.

I don’t have to write or daydream or fantasize to make it through the day.

I don’t have to sit and try to rhyme words to mask any pain.

Words often sound like broken records, but behavior never goes unnoticed.

I’m a lot less worried and a lot more focused.

I’m balanced and my life is stable and I feel so much more capable.

I’m enjoying the calm. I’m enjoying the content.

Because much of my life, I’ve just never had any of this. The peace. The ease. The security.

While most of the credit goes to me because I fought to get down this road.

He makes my house a home.

He throws up a sail when the waves get rough.

He’s not concerned with being too tough.

So yes, I pitched my own tent, but he keeps the fire going.

What I’m trying to say is I’ve never felt so safe in my life.

I don’t mean that I’ve locked myself in a cage and I’m safe away from everyone and everything.

I mean that I trust him to help me get through anything.

I mean that I never doubt that he will be there. I know that he will always be there.

And I can’t help but wonder why anyone would ever want to lose that.