"Never a lip is curved with pain, that can't be kissed into smile again." ~ Brete Harte
I had another bad dream last night. It wasn't exactly a demons and dragons nightmare like the night before –- in fact, it's hard to remember what it was about exactly, swirling more around real life than fantasy. I awoke a little before 3, tangled in the down comforter, sweating, the little hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I blinked a couple of times to get my bearings. I'm okay. I'm okay. "I'm okay."
The moonlight cast awkward shadows around the room, and I could make out hubby's silhouette lying next to me. I could hear the dogs rhythmic snoring from their spot underneath the bedroom windows. All the comforts of a peaceful night's slumber, yet I couldn't shake the creepy feeling.
I rolled over and made a long reach for my ChapStick on the nightstand, not wanting to remove myself from the safety of the covers any more than necessary. I began slathering on the lip balm as a soothing defense against whatever eerie feelings were lingering.
Already feeling better, I sense hubby's hand enclose around mine as he asks if I'm okay. "Just a dream," I whisper. Our noses touch as he leans in to kiss my forehead, then cheek, his lips making a last stop softly against mine. "Mmm, ChapStick kisses," he laughs. I smile into the darkness.
It's amazing how it's always the little things that chase away the monsters.