Eden

It’s said that distance makes the heart grow fonder, but what if I only want to be held by you? To exist within the circumference of your embrace has become some source of comfort, of safety, of security; what if I only want you closer?

Nestled in the waves of the Caribbean Sea, lies an island. Her shores are blockaded by tall walls and fortresses. Her conditions are hostile—untenable for human life. And the souls who dared to venture past her walls were consumed and spat out.

A soldier docked his ship on her shores one day. Not knowing the nature of this island. That she was not safe for him. That she only wanted to consume him. But his voice was warm and his touch was soft. “One night,” she said. “He can stay for one night.”

But one night turned to two, then three, then a week, then months. Before she knew it, in the places where her walls once stood, lied ruins. In his presence, her stormy waters turned to gentle waves. In his presence, what was once a wasteland flourished into a fragrant garden—Eden, reborn. But still, the soldier was clad in armor—his sword still drawn.

He never called the island home. But he ate of her fruits, tended her gardens. And she welcomed him—opened herself up to him. Desired only to keep him close. But still, the soldier was clad in armor—his sword still drawn.

It’s said that distance makes the heart grow fonder, but what if I only want you closer? What if I want to undress your armor and retire your weapons. What if I want to build a home for you in the heart of my Eden. It’s said that distance makes the heart grow fonder, but what if fondness is not what we lack?