"Sometimes, I’d like to leave my dreams," she replied, gently tracing the outline of his face with her fingers. Her silky hair fell to her waist, and he smiled lovingly at her. She smiled back. It was March, and the air was ripe with opportunity. The clouds were marshmallow fluff in the sky, and she wore nothing but a soft tulle skirt and his hands. An ancient gnarled tree stood witness to the Sacred Exchange, and the apples dangling from it fell like golden delicious raindrops onto the floor. He picked one up, admiring its smooth glittering skin, and bit into it with a crunch. The juice slid down his chin. She looked at him, horrified at what he had just done. He stood, extended his palms to her, and whispered, “Darling, this is where I leave you. I will love you forever. Goodbye.”
But all she could remember is sobbing wildly, screaming into his neck over and over again, as he walked away from her to a place she couldn’t be in, a dreamlike place where the apples were ripe all year long.