She sits in a fold up chair idly scratching at her hands.
Around her, in her father’s greenhouse insects buzz and off in the distance the mellow cry of the cuckoo chimes out.
She lifts a mug of coffee to her lips and wishes for a cigarette.
Arms wrapped tight around her torso, ground her and allow a reprieve from the cavernous depths of her mind. She tucks her face into his collarbone and allows a smile to curl her lips. She breathes deeply, steadily. Nuzzling deeper she feels the body beneath her give way to a curious softness. She groggily raises her head to find she is hugging a pillow. Another dream it seems.
A blinking cursor taunts her. ‘Write!’ She screams internally, ‘I don’t care if it’s bad just write!’ The cursor, being a function of an inanimate object merely winks coyly. She stares at it in disgust and closes the application with a dissatisfying ‘tap’.