As she sat by the pond, her sky blue dress partially soaked, her tears adding to the never ending pitch black water, she let out a shreek of laughter as she realized the madness of it all.
Her troubled gaze outed itself onto the crushed rain stained grass beneath the heels of her silver shoes and while she realised the irony of this contradiction of despair and beauty, her everlasting smile faded into a look of mere blankness.
The crumbles of dirt under the crystal clear fingernails of her satin soft hands left her careless as the sudden echoing of her name drowned out every visual worry she was planning on bothering with.
As she stood up, the back of her gown sticking to her legs, she spotted no one, thinking it was merely another disappointing dream-like scenario, she prepared to stretch out onto the grass once more.
The butch, manly, yet worrying voice returned with the shouting of her name and while the last syllable was called she turned her neck and spotted the profile of the bearded face of the one person she'd fantasized it coming from.
She yelled his name with a grin bigger than that of a child's during an early 20th century Christmas morning. They locked eyes and as they quickly ran towards each other, his black knee-high boots splashing in the countless puddles, the anticipation increased by the second. They finally met under the enormous rotten oak tree where they were both found with a lack of words to express the utter nirvana of being in each others arms once again.
While rain gently started pouring through the leaves, he wipes the wet hair from her eyes and confronted her with the unavoidable one-word question "why?".
She took a deep sigh, briefly glanced out to the drops of rain burying themselves into the pond, much like her tears were just a while ago, and told him how fear was the main drive behind her sudden disappearence from the tiny town they both spent their lifetime.
He understood and told her so. She plumetted her head onto his wide chest and begged him to not ask her to return, for she knew she would eventually do it against her will solely to please him.
With his hand on the back of her head he whispered and ensured her he won't ever think of asking her such a meaningless, drama provoking thing. She replied by saying she'd always knew he'd understand, for their minds, hearts and situations have always been much too alike for him to not know how she feels.
He kissed her forehead and agreed.
They betread the long and winding road ahead of them, drinking his cheap, sour wine and smoking the last of her crumbled up tobacco.
Their unmourned departure from their grim village took shape and they headed for the horizon, gazing only at each other and the brown grass road on which they started their journey in search of eternal and external satisfaction. It wasn't as much an escape as it was a quest for home. A true search for a destination that may never even appear.