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with purpose. on purpose.

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It was easy, like standing at the water's edge and letting the tide lap at their feet, the gentle swell of the ocean as the waves washed in. It felt like being home, like everything was at peace around them. The roar of the water wasn't deafening, but comforting, enveloping.

It was easy, like waking up in the early hours of the morning, sunlight not quite peeking over the horizon, the world awash in that blue hue. It would only be moments before the first rays would break through the slit in the curtains, bringing a comforting warmth to an already warm bed, and the day would begin anew.

It was easy, like the practiced simplicity of routine, of breakfast and teaching and training. Of coming home to one another and finding peace, finding solid ground. There would be the chink of a kettle on the stove and the soft thunk of a cupboard, the scratching of a pen and the soft huff of air that could be a laugh or could be a sigh. The mundanity of it all etched into the comforting noises of home.

It was easy to love each other, to choose to love one another because they wanted to. Loving each other was complicated and messy; it was bloody and painful, but it was also so very easy. More than anything in the world, they chose to love each other on purpose. With purpose.