Night Sailing

Things look different at night.

We sail, us two, in a boat of muddled dreams, docking at small islands of sleep, dotted across deep seas of disquietude.

In the dark we cannot fathom the waters depth, cannot know what lies beneath its murkiness. The beacon of morning often feels all too far off, beyond our horizon.

But we journey on. Our travels accompanied by the soft peaks and troughs of your daddy's breathing as he makes his own separate trip on another ocean beside us.

We navigate this journey differently sometimes. You wanting to paddle on, delighting in the waters lapping around you and the feeling of being rocked, whilst I - eyelids heavy - long for soft, warm shores and a bed of feathers for my head. Or, other times, you settle long before me and I am all adrift, wakened by thoughts which squirm and writhe like creatures of the deep.

But, still, we navigate this journey together. Every night. Our boat a shared bed. Our sails billowing with a guiding wind of love between us.

Things look different in the dark. Tonight I feel I am lost at sea. I have no compass or map for how to make this trip all over again.

But your body lays next to me. I feel my way to the soft, downy roundness of your head and run my hand along your familiar back and, all at once, I am anchored.