With her eyes closed she can feel things more.
The wind on her face, the warmth of his breath on her neck. Kids yelling in the distance, something about wanting to run, wanting to run.
She knows about that. Wanting to run. She wants to run almost every day. Wants to run away. Wants to escape and find a place far far away from everything that hurts and everything that doesn’t.
A place where there’s nothing but the smell of the trees and the call of the crows and the tickle of the grass against her skin. A place like this. She does run, and when she does she comes here. With him.
It gets too cold if she comes alone. Nobody to wrap around her like a blanket making her too hot in the summer and not warm enough in the winter and just right in the in-between seasons that nobody pays much attention to.
A dog barks, a child screams. His breath quickens and moves. She sighs. Sometimes even running away doesn’t guarantee her peace.