She has always been his home. She resonates like a horn in cold morning air. He knew long before he admitted it to himself; felt it hewn into his bones. He is invisibly anchored to her, has been from the moment they met. He resisted; convinced himself of the impossibility. She set out a string of buoys, guided him in. She ignored his protests.
"You're overthinking things," she said once in a hush against his lips. "I'm yours and you are mine. That is all there is to it."
It was she who lay all the ground work; she who drove pilings and poured herself into their foundation, she who insisted in the rightness of what they both felt. He tried to dissuade her until he couldn't anymore, because he couldn't dissuade himself. She held him fast in her moorings. He has learned with her he can shelter through any storm.