Once upon a time, a traveler named Jamie wandered through the hills, searching for a place to call home. After years of wandering, Jamie stumbled upon a quaint cottage nestled in a valley. It wasn’t perfect—there were cracks in the walls, and the roof leaked when it rained—but it was warm, sheltered, and always provided a cozy place to retreat. Jamie felt safe there, even though something deep inside whispered that this wasn’t where they truly belonged.
The cottage, though comfortable, was isolated. No matter how much time Jamie spent fixing the walls or patching the roof, a cold wind always found its way in. Nights were long, and Jamie would sit by the fire, gazing out the window at a distant lighthouse perched on a far-off cliff. The light from the tower shone brightly, cutting through the fog and calling out to the world. But the journey to the lighthouse seemed perilous, with jagged rocks and steep paths in the way.
“This cottage is enough,” Jamie would tell themselves each night. “I’m safe here. The light is beautiful, but what if the journey is too dangerous? What if the lighthouse isn’t as welcoming as it seems?”
But as the years passed, Jamie noticed something: the light from the distant lighthouse grew brighter, while the fire in the cottage dimmed. No matter how many logs Jamie added to the hearth, the flames never seemed to blaze the way they once had. The warmth that once filled the room now barely reached the edges, leaving Jamie shivering even next to the fire.
One stormy night, the wind howled, and the cottage creaked under the weight of the rain. The roof began to leak again, and Jamie sat, soaked and shivering by the dying fire. In that moment, they realized that the cottage, once a refuge, had become more of a shelter from the storm than a place of true warmth.
Gathering their courage, Jamie stepped outside, leaving the cottage behind. The wind tugged at their clothes, the path to the lighthouse was treacherous, and the journey was long. But with every step, Jamie felt lighter. The light ahead wasn’t just a guide—it was steady, unwavering, and promised something different.
When Jamie finally reached the lighthouse, the wind no longer felt biting, and the warmth radiating from the beacon was nothing like the fading embers of the old cottage. It was constant, steady—no patchwork needed, no effort to keep it burning. The light was always there, burning brighter than any fire Jamie had ever known.
