The days seemed to slip by slower there,   

pulsating like the waves that crashed on the rocky shore.   

The cottage was modest, as was the man who had helped her rebuild it.   

His hands were rough, covered in callouses;  

She wore light lilac linen dresses that blew with the wind.  

She had never lived on the east coast,   

and her accent stuck out like a thorn on a rose.   

She drank wine with her red-haired roommate at night, washing away the despair  

that had driven her away from her home to there.   

He started out as hired help, but now sat alongside her as they watched the waves,  

drinking wine for pleasure now. 

He was as quiet as the breeze, and their days together   

drifted by in a comfortable silence.   

He rose with the sun every morning, kissing her head before he slipped away. 

The summer would be ending soon,   

and all she could do was hope that the days would  

continue to go by slowly;  

The two of them existing together as it seemed  

in a comforting New England dream.