Wrapped in Love

There was once a woman who loved the sea, yet always stood just beyond the reach of its water.

She watched the waves arrive, open themselves upon the shore, and return.

How easily they seemed to give themselves to the moment.

Within her, something longed to do the same.

Sometimes love would stir quietly in her chest, and she would grow busy. There were things to finish, messages to answer, reasons to wait until another day.

Feeling so much frightened her a little.

One evening, she stayed.

The sky softened into blue. Beside her, a small white flower unfolded in the dusk.

She placed a hand over her heart.

“Just a little,” she whispered. “I can allow a little.”

And she let herself feel the warmth already there.

At first, it was barely more than a thread. She followed it with her attention, gently, as she might follow a child’s small hand into a garden.

The warmth spread.

Her eyes filled. She let them.

For once, she left the feeling unnamed. She sat beside the sea and allowed herself to be touched by the simple tenderness of being alive.

In her imagination, love gathered around her like a cocoon woven from light: pearl-soft, warm, spacious enough for every breath.

She rested within it as a baby rests against a loving chest, before there are words for being held.

The evening carried on around her. A bird crossed the water. Somewhere behind the dunes, someone laughed.

She could still feel the sand beneath her feet.

She could still choose when to rise.

For a little while longer, she stayed, letting the tenderness reach the places she usually hurried past.

When she finally stood, she touched the white flower with one careful finger.

Then she walked home slowly, giving herself time to feel the love she carried.