The next day, the two of them decided to spend the day in the park where their pigeon lay at rest. She said that she didn't feel all that bad there and he was just happy that she was getting out of the house.
He packed a picnic basket full of sandwiches and snacks, even though he knew she probably wouldn't eat that much, and their poetry book sat neatly on top of it all. He could read to her while she looked at the trees and she could read to him while he tried his best to sketch her face without her knowing.
He was an artist and she didn't know about it. He liked drawing, and after he met her it just made sense to sketch out every detail of her face. He wasn't sure why he didn't tell her or show her the pictures, maybe it was the innocence and unknowingness that he liked capturing, he wasn't sure.
She was a bit scared, her grip on his hand getting tighter with each step they made closer to the door of the complex. People, people, people. That's all she could see through the glass doors and she had to stop for a second to emotionally and physically prepare, and he obviously stopped too because he understood.
She took deep breaths and he squeezed her hand and she was okay, for now. She could go out there as long as he was there because he was the only person that mattered.
They both rushed through the busy crowds of people, he made sure she was okay and she focused on breathing more than anything because if she didn't tell herself too, she was afraid she might just stop.
There was no one in the park and the pain in her chest was still there but it was fading by the second. He cheerily lead her to a place that wasn't near the mound of dirt that they'd created the day prior, that would be a downer wouldn't it?
"Madame," he joked, helping her down onto the ground because in his mind she was very breakable and maybe in everyone else's she was too.
She thanked him and he smiled a smile that reminded her of the way the sun reflects off of the ocean.
He devoured two sandwiches and she only nibbled at the crust of hers, but he didn't say anything because those things take time and you can't just be a prick about it. She was grateful that he didn't look at her funny for not finishing her meal because everything scared her and fear made her nauseous. He never made her self-conscious about anything and that's one of the many reasons why she loved him and wanted him to find someone better.
She rested her head on his thigh and she just looked up at the clouds and occasionally his face, and he read her poems that reminded him of her, sweet ones that talked about adventure. She fell asleep on his lap, the sunlight touching her face in the best way and he thought that she looked like an afterlife, like someone could've spent their whole life doing good deeds just to get to see her.
He picked her up and the picnic basket too and carried her back to the apartment. He was finished drawing and she looked like she might be getting a sun burn or something and bad things made her sad, naturally. She was confused when she woke up, wrapped tightly in his arms and bouncing with each step that he took, but she was too sleepy to question anything.
Just like the night before, he took her up to their apartment and lay her in their bed. He was going to put things away and clean up a bit while she napped, but she held her arms out, whining and begging for him to just cuddle with her, be close to her.
He couldn't say no because frankly he didn't want to. Sometimes she was so distant and didn't want him to brush their feet together beneath the covers or press his lips against her collarbones. She was just so sad and he loved her more than she had ever been loved.
