They live in sandcastles, the always people. They’re made of the breeze.
They come into my life when I least expect them. They sweep up my words and tuck me away. They dance across the ever-changing landscapes, ever-constant, never the same, and when the sky pours her stars across the milk-drenched universe they gather them up, light them bright and take me home.
It is the always people who matter most. The ones who stay when things get hard. The ones who know that they are always free to walk away, but never do.
They’re the greatest teachers, the softest hearts, the dreamers, the realists, the ones who make all the wrong seem right, the ones who are easy to love.
Life in the sand can be hostile. It is not unusual to return from a walk only to find their house has moved. Whole rooms can change in an instant, doors can collapse on a whim.
By day, when the sun scorches across her desert plains there is little to cool their hands as they gather to themselves all that they know. They welcome the nights when they can swim across the moon and retreat to their watery depths, guided by forgotten lakes in the stars.
When they return, as they always do, they tumble softly to the sandy depths, build their homes and take my hand, weather the storms and show me the way.