She gazed out at the setting Sun through drooping eyelids and dripping lashes. She picked up a hand and wiped away the salt water, then looked to me. I turned my eyes from the horizon to her, barely able to twitch a half-hearted smile into permanently solemn expression. The wind blew, the trees bent with it as her hair danced behind her, gracing her head like a mother's loving hands.
"I wish things were different," I choked out. "I wish we could have a life."
She groped her eyes off of me and planted them firmly in the Earth.
"I know," she spoke. "I do too."
Then she looked up and back over the valley and hills toward the almighty setting light. My eyes followed hers and we stood there for what seemed like hours before I gained the strength to flick a finger out. I pushed it into her arm and then wrapped my hand around her wiry wrist. She was kind enough to offer a flickering smile; up and then gone like eraser shavings being blown off of a desk. I appreciated her attempt at gratitude, I knew how hard it was to even think about smiling in a time like this.
"I always wanted to run," she mumbled. "I thought that if, somehow, I ran long enough, far enough..."
Her voice was reduced with each word before she became inaudible.
"That if I could just get away. I could escape. Forever. And then everything would be right. Everything would make sense."
I looked down again and then lifted my arm, settling it over her narrow shoulders and cupping her shoulder with my palm.
"Things don't work like that," I say. "It's incredibly ******* disheartening, I know. But that's life."
She sighs gently, releasing air from her lungs through her nose in a miniscule huff.
"You just have to hold on," she says. And I smile. She's right. She's speaking the truth, as cold and hard as it is, but nonetheless the truth. She's admitted what has to be done. And that's enough to induce an almost enthusiastic look on my face.
"You're right. You're right," I blink. "That's just life."