“We’re naked, slowly emerging from the tide, side by side, care free, we’re walking up toward the fire, where we can settle on soft dry towels and nestle among the many scattered throw cushions he’s left arranged there.”

“He’s adding fresh drift wood to the fire. His body looks like a fire in the twilight, the shadows and the light from the open flames leaping and dancing all over his wet skin.”

“With a fresh towel I’m wringing the water from my sun bleached and salt ragged hair, pampering my body, and thankful to see he remembered to bring a fresh bottle of Coco body lotion.”

“He’s pouring the wine. The night sky is already speckled with early stars. The fire crackling with approval, having just been fed, the heat so soothing against my towel dry skin.”

“In one hand he offers me my glass, in the other, something ribbon wrapped, in coloured tissue paper.”

“I sip the wine. Delicious. Remove the ribbon and unwrap the paper. A silk chemise. I slip into the silk and lace, and lay back into the cushions. Savoring each sip of my wine and watching the heavens as the stars slowly reveal their hidden number.”

With a keen eye, your therapist watches as you sigh, sensing you drifting down into another layer of the subconscious.

“Where are you now?” he soothes. He’s attentive, leaning forward, concerned with how far you might be under?

“Where are you?” He whispers again.

“Here” you murmur, as if in a deep sleep.

“And where is here?” he whispers, coming up out of his chair to bring his whisper closer to your ear.

“Just laying here on these cushions, looking up into this river in the sky, seeing our milky way, near to naked, under a nebula of night.”

“And is he with you?” his whisper so feint against your ear

“Yes.” You whisper back.

“What’s he doing?”

“Caressing my breast with his kisses.”

“Do you want him to stop?”

“No.”

~ X ~

I glance again at the dials and do the rough math: 50 miles. 80 miles per hour, 40 minutes more, and then I’ll be walking.

I loosen my grip on the throttle, letting my speed drop to 50, probably the most economical speed I can achieve in terms of miles to the gallon. This could buy me a few more minutes.

It’s hard to let your imagination roam free when you’re anxious. Scratch that. It’s nigh impossible. If I ask my mind to lay still and be empty it immediately fills with worry: how much further, what if there’s no gas station, how far will I have to walk?

I try tricking my mind. Rummaging through an attic space of old boxes, pulling out fragments of thought, like they’re old photographs, or ideas jotted down in a journal, remembering places visited, and the emotions attached. Most of the boxes are labelled “work” they can seem huge but are usually full of junk.

continued…