In then out.
In then out.
Sniff the flower.
Blow out the birthday candle.
Meditation feels fucking futile right now.
Like somebody handing me a feather instead of a sword.
Amos waits patiently, never rushing me.
“I need something cold,” I say. “I need to hold something... that's cold.”
He runs back to the truck, rummaging through the esky.
When he returns, my darling man is holding a melon.
“Here,” he offers.
I rest my cheek against it.
The chill is soothing, a welcome contrast to the heat.
The weight of it anchors me, a much needed tether.
“Thank you,” I mumble. “And sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, my love.”
???
He leads me slowly back to the truck, out of the scorching sun.
We sit inside the cabin with all four doors open, claustrophobia still rising in waves.
If I keep my legs out the door, it seems to help.
Leaning into him, those strong arms are a comforting refuge.
I cradle the fruit as though it’s a child, one cheek still pressed close.
“I'm sorry,” I say once again. “I thought I could do it.”
“And you did, baby,” he grins. “You drovesixhours further than last time.”
“I wasted your fuel. I'll pay you back.”
“Birthday boys aren't allowed to pay for fuel,” he shrugs. “It's a recently passed law. Ask any servo.”
“It's not my birthday yet.”
“Discount is valid all month,” he smiles.
“We're so far from home.” The tears spill as I say it. “Too far.”
“Hey... your home is right here.” He places my hand on his chest. “Doesn't matter where we are on the map.I'myour home. Andyouare your home. Okay?”
