I dreamt of us last night, living in the little stone cottage by the sea, the one you promised me.
Our love held together by wrinkled hands as we slowly walked across ever-sinking sands. Each languid step taking us closer toward our very last sunset.
It wasn't until I was fully awake that I truly woke up.
I suddenly realized it's no coincidence the two middle letters of life are if.
For every action we make, there is a reaction. The outcome often beyond our control, fragile and fraught with ruinous consequences. Like a soap bubble made real by a gentle breath only to be taken by it.
If you had stayed here, in my trembling arms, would our fingers not be pricked by the thorns of red roses?
And what if our love could have stood up to the storm, standing strong, like our cottage by the sea?
