Lay your armor by the door.

Come back to me at the end of the day, and remove the heaviness of the world from your shoulders. Sit by the fire. Curl up in my lap. Heal. Rest. Show me the chinks, the blows, the bruises. My love is the magic tonic that heals it all.

Lay your armor by the door.

You go out every morning, taking on the world—fearlessly, ruthlessly—and you win. To the world you are a mighty warrior, unshakable. To the world the armor is always there, impenetrable.

But, I know the truth, my love.

I know the armor is heavy. Hot. Uncomfortable. I know that revealing anything other than the calm, cool, collected exterior you wear could result in certain demise. It’s the way the world is.

But you are home now.
There are no dragons to slay here.
No need to be fearless.

You are safe.

I will be your fortress.

Lay your armor by the door.

Come to me. Come to me with the softest parts of you vulnerable and bare. Come to me naked and tired; rest your weary head upon me. Let the rawness of the day seep out of you and away into the ethers.

Let my love wash over you.

Let me renew you, sing you songs, watch over you as you slumber.

Lay your armor by the door.

You can slay dragons tomorrow.

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Author: Shona Marie

Image: Brian Tomlinson/Flickr

Editors: Toby Israel; Katarina Tavčar

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