The cherry wood floors creaked beneath her as she stumbled out of bed and rushed to her closet. It was late enough that all the neighbors had gone to sleep and the only source of light in the sky was the half moon. But that didn't matter. Anne knew this path around her room. She could, and has, done it in her sleep. Beads of sweat still fresh on her forehead were swept up by gifted sweaters and old dresses she'd never wear again. Anne dug past the empty shoe boxes and arbitrary papers on her closet floor until she found one specific box. It was a small, rectangular box with intricate gold lacing on the sides. There was a tiny engraving on the bottom of the box that read "aimer ~ c'est d'être avec vous" which meant "To love is to be with you". The box was closed with a silver latch, chipped at the edges from the many times she opened it. Inside, a little blue bird spun around while piano music played. Anne opened that box now, and held on to every note. She held the music box in her hands, closed her eyes, and danced around her room. She did anything to keep her blood flowing and her heart beating. Anything to keep the darkness at bay.

It was dusk, 5 years ago. The beings of the earth had finished their daily duties and were returning home to rest. It was time for night creatures to play. Fireflies had come out to help brighten the dark sky. The cicadas began chirping their mating calls, hopeful for a chance at romance. Like the cicadas, Anne had love on her mind. She packed a bag with food, a blanket, and a notebook. She went to her room and put on the blue dress with laced hems that he always liked. It had a scoop neck lining in the front and back as well as a white sash around the waist. Now it was time to wait for John to come home.

Anne sat on the porch, swinging her bare legs and humming aloud to some song she heard on the radio. Anytime a car passed by, she would stretch her neck to see if it was her John. Soon enough, her wish was granted and a silver car pulled into the driveway. Anne hopped up off the porch and went to greet her darling husband.

"Don't turn the car off yet!" she exclaimed. John's eyes lit up when he saw that Anne was carrying the bag. He got out of the car and went to hug his wife. Arms met as lips met and the two were happy just to see each other. It had been too long since they could feel each other's skin on their skin, and breath on their faces. The longer the wait, the sweeter the kiss people always said. But time had nothing to do with the unspeakable love that burned between the two. John looked down lovingly at Anne, his eyes filled to the brim with compassion. Words were inadequate. Every wrinkle on Anne's face screamed "I missed you" and every scar on John's hands shouted "I’m here to stay. It’s all okay now". And it was okay. They were together and nothing could separate them. Nothing could separate them.

Anne and John got into their silver car and drove to this little field on a hill that overlooked the city. They would come here every so often and watch the sun set over the city. They would stay up the entire night just to watch the sun rise again. But the best part wasn’t experiencing the earth’s natural beauty. The best part was the talking in between. Sometimes it was meaningless rambles about silly trivial things. Other times it was heart talk.

A dark red knit blanket was laid down on a patch of grass. Anne took out the notebook and handed it to John. They both sat on the blanket, feet tucked in behind them and looked at the millions of lights in the city. It was breathtaking. Each one of those lights represented a person. And every person had a story. A tragic story, a hopeful story, a story that needed to be told – so that’s what Anne and John did. John opened up the notebook and began scrawling a few thoughts that had popped into his head.

“Steven Daye, 22 years old, fresh out of college” John began reading, “His dog ran away a month ago and Steve’s still looking for him. He loves that dog. One day while stapling posters onto street lights, he bumped into his high school sweetheart…”

Anne saw that John was trailing off so she immediately picked up the story. “Things hadn’t ended well between them so the encounter was extremely uncomfortable. But Steven was polite and talked with his ex-sweetheart until she made an excuse to leave. The reason things hadn’t ended well between them was that…” Anne couldn’t think of a good enough reason so she let her sweetheart pick up the story.
“Steven was still in love with the girl, while the girl had wanted to end the relationship for months. The two were on completely different pages and it broke Steve’s heart.” This is what Anne and John always did when they spent their nights up here. Making stories and sharing them with one another. Writing timelines for complete strangers.

As the sun set and the stars came out, John and Anne hung onto one another and simply talked the time away. At one point, John said he had a gift for Anne and he ran to the trunk of his car to get it. He came back with that little music box embroidered in gold lace.

“It’s so you won’t miss me as much whenever I’m gone,” he said. "To love is to be with you." John opened the box and let the music flow into the nighttime air, bending around the blades of grass and stray branches to touch every soul in the dark. Though there were only fireflies to shed any light in the area, John knew that his wife's eyes were sparkling with happiness.

"I miss the little surprises you'd have for me" she said, tracing her finger along the designs on the box. Anne was beyond John in intelligence and wit and strength but she still had the innocent heart of a child. John replied in the only way he could - with the truth.
"I miss our little talks," he said.

"I miss the little whispers you'd soothe me to sleep with."

"I miss the little things you do."

"I miss the little smiles you had when you thought I wasn't looking."

"I miss your little hands making each day just a little bit better."

"I miss you a lot," they said together. John had been away on war duty in Afghanistan for 14 months prior to this little escapade. He wrote as often as he could, but it wasn't enough. Nothing except for the real thing would ever be enough.

Through the night, Anne and John talked some more about politics and movies and rabbits and fireflies. They pointed at stars and clouds that John swore looked like Albus Dumbledore. They nibbled on the chips and sandwiches that Anne packed. They sang little ditties that played during commercials. John's voice was so familiar and calming that Anne drifted off to sleep. She had never fallen asleep on one of these trips before.

When Anne awoke there was an intense pounding in her left temple. Gingerly, her light green eyes opened and surveyed the room. Everything was a blinding white color and it made Anne feel uncomfortable. And then John was there and everything was alright again. Everything was okay as long as she had her John with her.

"You had a seizure," he said. Anne could hear the emotion laden in his voice. It sounded as if he had been on the verge of tears for hours. His voice was no longer familiar and calming. Instead it was raspy, hoarse, and brought about a nervous qualm that settled in the pit of Anne's stomach. Anne tried speaking up but all that came out was a croak. John poured her a glass of water and helped her sit up to drink it. He brushed the hair out of her eyes and looked into them. He was worried. John was always the steady rock that both of them leaned on. Now that he was shaking, neither of them knew what to think or what to feel. Little hands found big scarred hands and they clasped onto one another and waited.

Soon enough, a male doctor with salt and pepper hair and dark blue scrubs came into the room. He talked for a while but all Anne could do was look at his eyes. They were blue but they were so much older than the rest of the man's appearance. This doctor had seen death, perhaps even greeted it, and he wasn't afraid.

"Ms. Harris," the doctor started. Anne snapped out of her entrance and began to actually listen. She was still holding John's hands and gave them a squeeze as the doctor delivered the tough news.

"You had a seizure and there was some damage dealt to your brain," he said. Anne shook her head, confused. She felt normal.
"There must be a mistake, I feel just fine. Can me and my husband just go home now?"

The doctor walked closer and put his big hands on her tiny shoulders. He looked straight into her light green eyes and said, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You have schizophrenia. There is no one else with you here today. You were found by two hikers at 5 in the morning and brought in for some tests. Everything you've seen or heard about your husband for the past few years...” Anne listened to what the man in the dark blue scrubs said but she couldn't hear what he was saying. None of it was making any logical sense.

She was scared so she looked to John for something familiar, for some comfort. But when she looked around the room and even past the doctor, John wasn't there.