“Why are you grinning, so?”

“I am feeling nervous on your behalf.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You should be.”

Those tendrils of longing.  Reaching out, probing.  Like sightless antennae that recoil to the touch, but return to see if whats there is real.

Is it my pride that makes me want to take more?  If I succumb, do I give into weakness and sin?

Better to play it safe, and steer from the shallows.

That genuine part of me that I gave was intended to be a gift, but in turn I’m the one who is thankful. I have to remind myself this is not my home port.

Time to leave then.
Tally ho’