TheMOS: Peace/comfort.

He lie awake in bed, one hand loosely tangled in her hair and the sound of the ceiling fan whirring lulling everything into reflective thinking and memories. He was thinking of what he missed the most back home at that moment, thinking of home and thinking of peace, quiet. Comfort.  

One thing was for sure: his comfort was vastly different from hers. He was tall, broad shouldered and well built. He was often the one whom people went to for their own comfort and ease. He was friendly and huggable. But He had a very different sense of when things were the most comfortable to him, the most familiar and most safe of all places on earth. She loved bookstores, fresh sheets and overstuffed furniture which made her feel cozy and safe inside and out. Small things ensured her own personal peace in an instant. But for him, he only had one thing that really settled him. 

That place was the dock at Morrow Cliffs, by the sea and a few miles away from the closest market. The dock went as far as a mile out to sea, worn by the wind and salt but sturdy and old and craggy as an old fisherman. The bolts in the wood were rusted and crusted over with grime and the lamps along the way were dim and foggy. The dock was almost always empty and that’s why he loved it so much. To him, solace was found simply in being alone, with only one way back to the shore and the wide open sea at his back.

He had nowhere to run but he had the choice, at least, to go back.

Go back, walk the two and a half miles to that market and get a drink and maybe a sandwich. It was all simplified; there at the dock. Life was distilled into that one choice.  And that made him feel at peace more than anything.