His robe flapped against his bony legs as he trudged uphill, the night arrhythmic, the hoary cold blowing on its fingers, pensive. He had broken his stony silence only once, the monastery clinging to the cliff above us, bowing, listening, glowing a pearly white. Happiness is a constant. Everyone is handed the exact same amount. Misery on the other hand, is what you make out of your happiness. His words by now tactile, twisting sharply into carefully forgotten memories.
I stopped, breathing hard, the shadows scattering for a moment, before settling on my face, dropping sleeping leaves on my skin. I dug deep, sifting through the gravelly pain, a familiar ache beginning to spread and darken like an itinerant blood stain. After a while, a moment, a year, a lifetime, I lay back on the rocks exhausted and ripped open a bar of chocolate. He laughed and stretched out his hand, asking for his share, the moon shimmering on his palm, the monastery slipping behind a cloud, the universe converging its light into his silver joy.
caught in a tree
biding her time