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  • I have a recurring dream. I love the familiar. I wake happy from this dream, month in, month out.

    I am being held close, so close, by a man, at the edge of a lagoon. The man has an original soul that has been around and around. We are in the Northern Territory. The land of red dust and storms and indigenous population and dream time and tradition and love.

    The lagoon is more of a water hole, a billabong, with a red earth ledge that I perch on, as he holds me so close in the water.

    He is big and broad and bearded. Rough stubble.

    The water is warm and tropical and there is a haze of dust and hum of dragonfly wing in the air.

    Beyond us, totally blurred, are splashes of children.

    We are too wrapped up close, too bound to one another, to care of much else.

    He is in awe of me, for some reason. I am not sure why. No idea why, in fact - it baffles me.

    Despite loving me, despite wanting me, despite moving with me in a confident fashion, he tells me he is amazed and overjoyed by me.

    I am thrilled, but I shake my head, confused that he would think that I am so special.

    All these little things you do. All the time. All you manage. You do all that, all the time.

    He pushes into me and we are held solid and close. I hold and kiss his stubbled face and feel immense comfort at his body and his words.

    When I wake I am never sure who this man is. I want to know who he is.

    And I turn over in my married bed and place a hand on my husbands back, and I realise that I possibly share my world with a man that makes my dreams.
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