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the cottage on the outskirts of the hillock; was our cabin in the woods a safe haven where we'd always escape to it wasn't much, but it was ours; untouched
it had stone walls with crimson-draped windows, beige rugs and your aunt's antique sofa luminant gold flames that'd leave behind the ashy scent of cedar embers the memory paints itself; warm and welcoming, as you'd read east of Eden; "And now you don't have to be perfect, you can be good"
the cinnamon aroma of the scented candle, we used to chug up the whole cranberry juice while having freshly baked pie with caramel; your presence was a comfort I haven't found since then meet me at our safe haven? I've been waiting since then
