Sunday Scribblings...bedtime stories

Flickering candlelight in the darkness, the musky scent of patchouli and oriental spices wafting gently through the air, the comfort of worn cotton sheets and the warmth of plush corduroy wrapped loosely around my bare shoulders A voice, deep and rich, whispers to me a love story like those of days long past. A love story imbued with the essence of passion and happiness, comfort and security. A love story like all love stories were meant to be.

His voice, the way the words naturally flow, the way the story threads together piece by piece, effortlessly, like it is the story he has always known. I am blanketed in a cocoon of safety and solace, peace filling within me, faith reaffirmed. Eyelids heavy, sleep tiptoeing forward, and I am taken back to a time when innocence encircled fantasies of happily-ever-after. For a moment, I believe in fairy tales. I believe in magic and flowing white dresses and the sound of tiny footsteps echoing down a hallway, each step bringing angels closer to snuggle in the warmth with me.

It is not the beginning of the story or the end that matters to me. It is the middle, the journey, and the strength of the voice that knows this story. Just before his voice fades and dreams arrive, I open my eyes and I know that this story is the story I am meant to live. A sleepy smile, a gentle kiss, goodnight my love…I will see you in my dreams.