photo by Brian Gaid via Unsplash
Watching the sun rise rosy over the cloud plains, he felt her lay a warming hand over his.
On the ground, weighed down by the hissed pressures of work, by the thick walls and dim corners of the house, she never found him.
Up in the air, where the light shine clearer, freer, she always snuck in beside him, wriggling her fingers through his. He liked to fly.