She dreamt through the night and late into the morning. It was an epic struggle, the story to end all stories and when she woke she was soaking; sodden mattress, sheets sticking wet to her arms. She flung off the cocoon gasping.
She stared blankly at the veneer of the dark brown cabinetry just above her foldout bed which was their kitchen table during the daytime. She fed all night long on what was found there between them throughout the days conversations.
They belonged to the road, screaming wild as Eden. They were borrowing the RV, that's how they ended up justifying the adventure.
So the next night she was afraid to go to sleep. She sat by the coals which were glowing orange, white hot when a breeze blew and she knew that this was something she was simply going to have to learn how to live with. The dream left a scar, no first a wound, one that does not want to close, not ever.
It'll get better. And, hey, this was still better than sitting at home.
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