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(Months, fleeting)

Days slipping through their fingers, specks of time lost with every breath they share. Whispered laughter between sessions, secret smiles thrown back and forth from mitt to mitt. Future days like shining beacons, and the grass feels evergreen, the field theirs to take by storm. This is their time, their prime. This is who they'll become.

Clouds creeping over the horizon--

Clouds over their heads, darkening the skies, and the sun, once brighter than anything, shatters. Suddenly it's quiet; suddenly it's been half a year since they last spoke, the space between them growing and growing, this yawning pit of emptiness.

------

Until,

(one day)

a glimmer of light