Parched.. That was the mood of that escapade. The thought of morning was supposed to be redemption, a relief from darkness but after baking in the sun for immeasurable amounts of time, it was really absolution. She was coughing, and had most of the covers to insulate herself, and I was miserable, knowing that it was my helm that navigated us to a sorrowful schtick. Sure, we had each other, but the red sun burns were more prominent than anything else. I asked her about regret, and to my surprise it wasn't a bad conversation. She adored the idea of us, more than I ever could muster with that hot blooded stride out of a theater, or the same from our flat eons ago. This was making the vision reality. And it was impossible.