Missing

The street glistens up at her. The light mist coats her hair and skin, it feels nice. She walks slowly on, towards nowhere. Her thoughts are far off, keeping her from knowing where she travels. Through empty streets and along empty fields, she walks, never looking around her, only ahead, wherever that is. Finally, the sound of rushing water wakes her from herself, she finds she is on an old cart bridge in the middle of a copse of maples. Startled by its beauty, she smiles for the first time in months. The slats of the bridge are worn, so worn they are smooth and slippery from the mist and river beneath, they have warped to show the immense flow below. Captivated, she lays down upon the cool bridge and peers through one of the gaps; the motion of the river makes her head swim. Overwhelmed, she rolls onto her back, gasping for air. She closes her eyes and the mist settles coolly upon her flesh, it feels nice. She lays like this for hours, breathing in the cool air, letting the sound of the river beneath wash over her, she stays in this moment, doesn't drift to her life of preoccupation. If only she could stay here forever.