Laying there in a clearing in the woods in the middle of nowhere with the wind in her hair she slept. She wasn't tired, she just couldn't wake -- lost in a dream. She thought she was running, but nothing is reality. Nothing is preserved but your mind. Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping, she never moved, but the lapping of air on her skin made her shiver. Feeling so alone would seem so impossible without so much around you. She wanted to be loved, and would have loved to be wanted. She had no way of moving, so still she sat with her cold, hard skin and her wind blown hair of grass; and the moss growing steadily like a torn dress across her body.