I am in a field where flowers bloom, and the roses with its thorns would mingle with the dandelions and the poppies, and the grass would grow to a knee high yet felt like silk to the skin.

And a boy was there, with his dark hair and eyes and with a silent and gentle glance that that ensnared my heart, and with his outstretched hand he pulled me from where I sat and led me further to the woods. And as we advanced our strides hastened, and the rim of my dress was torn by the thorns and bushes of our path, and my legs were grazed by the blades of the grass.

There were trees with their arms stretched, flourished trees whose leaves fluttered against the wind like a thousand birds with their soft wings, and intertwined with their trunks were the blossomed roses of scarlet and blue, with faces that seemed to bear wide and warm-hearted grins. And at each compelled glance at their splendour my hand loosened its grip and I would stumble to the ground, and I saw that his glances were cold and threatening, and his face would alter to a countenance I seemed not to recognize.

I took his hand again. And at every moment I caught a strayed glance at every beauty of nature that mesmerized me, I would feel his sharp tug and stumble to the ground, and I would see the sudden change of his glance, his distant eyes, and above the sky turned scarlet and grey and the grass were now mild blades against my skin.

I glanced at my knees, and I found that they bled excessively with their cuts and bruises, my dress was torn, and my legs and feet were soiled and bloodied.

I ran with him still, and when I felt my knees writhe with pain and my legs battered and broken I stumbled and lay on the ground, watching him standing still with a face I could not even identify. And my breath shuddered and my body wilted, and my eyes locked his, shattered, piercing, and angry. I breathed, yet my lungs caught vitriol in the air.

I cried to him, though my voice was hoarse through my anguished lungs, “I followed you without options, I held your hand though my legs would give in. why make me stumble at every strayed glance, when all I ask is a glimpse of what would relieve me of every burden I felt?”

He came to me, and gently with his arms he gathered my broken body and geld me against his, and though I could not recognize him his warmth was familiar against mine, the warmth I felt as I first held his hand.

“I feared,” he replied, “that at every strayed glance your heart would stray as well, then you would neither hold my hand nor walk with me in the path I tread.”

I lay still and wept, and the tears that fell down my face were bitter enough to sting my eyes, and my breath fluttered like a dying flame. “You know well that I linger because I am aware that I will still have your hand to hold, and your path to follow,” I told him.

He nodded, and with the pain that ravaged me I was blinded and fading, drifting to my own demise.

Yet I know with my whole heart that he and I understood.