In the Slate

It is cold, on the sand, and windy. The moons hangs like a incandescent fruit in the sky. They run, full pelt, out towards the waves, which are somehow not as threatening in the night. She sinks into the sands, watching them, running, laughing and loving each each other assuredly. They reach out and it is there, grasping, and constant. She rubs the rim of the coffee mug and smiles as they call out her name. She shakes her head, even though they won't see her in this all slate world. Not right now. They shrug and run farther, faster until in the distance she can't tell which of them is which. But she can still their laughing.

And they are so happy. Lucky to wake up in the morning, clinging to the images of their subconcious and letting willingly go, because in realityit is so much better and they are yours, yours, yours.

To belong to someone, she thinks. And maybe it's because she doesn't but she thinks that it is the most beautiful thing to be in the world.

She lies back in the sand and strains to hear the laughter, which has moved away farther still. And for now, she thinks, maybe listening is enough.