Sometimes I dream of a place where everything is right. Nothing’s wrong. I can snuggle to your chest and listen to your heart and stay in the stillness of that moment.
There’s no kitchen sink to clean there. No deadlines to meet or bills to pay. No office politics.
There’s only us. The warmth of your touch. The sweet sound of your breath as it flows in and out of you.
I can do nothing wrong there, in this place. No one argues about how to load a dishwasher there — or what a certain phrase means. That sort of thing doesn’t exist.
Instead, it’s a place of pure sensation. Where we can just be. Where neither of us are judged by ourselves, by others, for what we do or don’t. And how we do or don’t do it.
There’s nothing but warmth and acceptance. We feel safe and supported. And we feel that it’ll never end.
For once, we can escape that familiar fear — that all things end.
In this place, we never even think of that. It doesn’t even occur to us to go there in our minds. We just hold each other, and we know that everything is right. We’re right where we should be. Everything is solid; everything is right.
On the toughest days, I think about this place several times a day — and every time I think of it with longing. It’s like home, my true home. But it’s a home that I don’t get to visit nearly as much as I would like. There are times when I feel like I’ve been away from it forever — that I’ve spent weeks, even months, on the road. And on the worst days, I find myself wishing I lived there full time.