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295 pages, Kindle Edition
First published June 25, 2018

"Everything about you means comfort to me ... Kind of like I'm lost at sea and you're the lighthouse and safe harbour. I know when I'm with you, no one can hurt me."

"When you look at the stars, what do you see?"
"Impossible possibilities ... Movement and stillness, incomprehensible vastness. Infinity."


"I put my hand to his cheek. “The southern lights are beautiful, but they’re nothing compared to you.”
“What’s got you staring at nothing and smiling?” he asked. I hadn’t realised he’d stopped talking.
“You.”


“May the stars forever guide us, and may this lighthouse bring us home.”
Time simply didn’t stop. It trudged on while you wandered aimlessly, helplessly, with only grief and loneliness as companions. Time mocked and ridiculed, passing slowly when you were the one left behind, and at the same time flying by so damn fast, reminding you that you were stuck.
He smiled, and his cheeks tinted with the sunset. “I used to think you were this coastline personified. Eyes the colour of water, and your beard is the colour of the brown rocks and grey like the storms, and you were as beckoning and as strong as your lighthouse. So having a heart as big as the Southern Ocean kind of fits.”
Patrick sat back and happily watched the performance in front of us, and for a long while, I watched him.
It was as though he was the personification of this coast, this ocean. He was browns, blues, and greys, just like the scenery behind him, with a spark of life in his eyes but a sadness too. A little worn, rugged, weathered, but beautiful all the same.
“Can you hear that?” I asked quietly, looking to Patrick before searching the stars again with the telescope. “How the ocean and the wind speak to the lighthouse. It’s like a quiet symphony; an ode to the stars,” I said, almost as a joke.
Stories were better told over time, anyway, when allowed to unfold only when they were ready to be written.
"When you look at the stars, what do you see?"
Stories were better told over time, anyway, when allowed to unfold only when they were ready to be written.
If I was adrift and lost, and I certainly felt it some days, then he was my shining beacon, my tether and guide to something good and whole.
My lighthouse.
Sometimes you have to listen to the silences. When things aren't said. That's where the truth is.




