Myra visited me last night, trespassing into heavenly dreams of the one I love. Myra took the form of the most beautiful woman I could imagine, wielding a raw sexual magnetism that could not only launch a thousand ships, but sink them to the ocean depths just for a passing pleasure.

She whispered in my ear and tried to touch me inappropriately, but I stood as firm as Buddha sat under his bodhi tree. As she whipped my baser instincts into a fratricidal fury, I grabbed hold of something more real, more stable than even the dirt under Siddhartha’s seat. I summoned the face of my love, stretched my heart into a glorious grin, and shattered Myra’s seductive spell with a simple retort, “I don’t love you. I love Laura.”

With a screeching wail, Myra fled and took sleep with her.

I watched the sun slowly push back the wisps of night and smiled broadly at the heart flame of my love so many miles away.

Forever and ever and four days no matter how many traps Myra might manage to manipulate into our path.

I love you.