I dream of us in our house— decorated with the quiet things we each love, small reminders of who we are. So that in moments of storm, those pieces speak for us, reminding us back into understanding. I dream of us waking slowly, rain against the windows— not as interruption, but as permission to stay, to linger, to be. I dream of us holding hands, walking our dog by the beach, watching her paws touch the sand as if it were her first time meeting the sea. I dream of us reading poetry to one another— listening as if our love was written in presence, not in longing. I dream of us showing little souls what love can be— so when it finds them, they recognise it from within, not from something missing. I dream of us in every sunset, every quiet ending of a day. I dream of us looking at each other like two stars, who chose to leave the universe at the same time. I dream of us— the moon, the stars, the space in between. I dream of us.
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