She lied there one night, the green grass itchy on her bare skin, and started counting the stars. She came back each night to lay in my field. I asked her one time, 'Do you think you'll ever count them all?' And she looked at me, eyes dark and glowing in the moonlight, and said, 'I already have, every time I come here.' Her answer confused me, it was impossible. But then she took my hand in hers, and I found myself falling to my knees before her and soon resting down beside her body, skin against skin, pulse against pulse, and she turned to look at me. 'I lied when I said I only come for the open sky to count the stars.' Her pinkie hooked over my hand and slowly, her fingers entwined with mine. And just in that moment, looking into her eyes, feeling her breath so close and warm on my skin, I knew everything.
And I loved her back. Just as much as she loved coming back each night.