The night air is damp but warm, and dew has settled on the soft unkempt grass underfoot. Laughter rides the gentle span of an air current, carried by the ambiance of the meadow and the hushed undertones of an owl hooting in the distance.
A spins in a lazy circle, lead by the guiding hand of B. They engage in a slow dance, gliding aimlessly but with intentional movements across the even ground; the blades of dark green grass tickling the soles of their feet and toes.
B takes a step back, arm outstretched, then pulls A back in. Around, around. Outward, inward. Together, and apart. The fluidity of their motions creates a graceful illusion underneath the glow of the waxing moon. The illusion breaks as A slips on the slick ground, falling into B’s arms, and knocking the two of them to the ground.
A rolls off of B, laying with their back on the ground, staring at the sky. The clouds are faint wisps, almost imperceptible, save for a faint glimmer in the distance. The stars appear clear and bright, unpolluted by the light of cities.
“I remember a quote… When life knocks you down, roll over and look at the stars.” A smiles, and closes their eyes.