The Ferry Home

(ooh) Salt on the railing, evening light

You asked me on the ferry home, engine humming under our feet, the harbour lights all leaning in like they'd been waiting for us to meet. I said yes before you finished, and the water kept its time.

It isn't grand, it isn't loud, it's just the way you stay.

Daniel, you're the quiet kind of steady, two cups warm before I'm even ready, you make the ordinary feel like home, Daniel, I'm never on my own.

Every single morning, there you are, spoon and the kettle, half awake, you hand me the day in a cup and never once ask what it takes. I've counted them like little vows, all those mugs you made.

And in that waiting room of paper chairs, where the clock forgets to move, you found my hand and held it there — that's all the proof I need of you.

Daniel, you're the quiet kind of steady, hand in mine before I even ask it, you make the frightening hours feel like home, Daniel, I'm never on my own.

So take me on the ferry home again, my love, my morning, my oldest friend. (ooh)