Okay, so it's sappy.

Well, found this old writing project in my files from last year. Tell me what you think!

"How distant everything seemed! The pounding stagger, the ragged breath, the aching side; all so far from me. For there was no other way. Miles ran together; only the rhythm and fever of my heart sustained me.

Every part of me ached. My soul, my being! How many times had I seen his face, heard his voice only to find him a mirage of my own delirium?

And then. He was there.

All the world became peripheral, save for him. Sharp and clear, his distant image pierced my dim, blurred heart.

The body I’d yet ignored gave way under me. I did not care.

He was coming for me now. He’d flung down the plow reins and broke into a dead run.

I gasped with starving lungs, twisting my fingers into the grass that surrounded me, towered over me. I dreaded him, longed for him! The old caution and stifling reserve flooded me the moment he came. Why, oh why had I come? Does not his kindness kill me? I felt him pull me up, supporting me while he kneeled.

“Dear girl, what have you done? Are you mad? That’s nearly twelve miles journey! Did you run all the way?”

His questions weren’t really asking for answers, so I closed my eyes and swallowed thickly. Not that I would have spoken anyway.

Of course he’s shocked that you’re here. He sent you away, and you’ve come running back like a doting fool! How you must try him! The exasperation in his eyes cut me to pieces. I stared holes in the ground; shrinking from him.

“I—I’ll go back,” I murmured, “I’m---sorry that I came.”

“But why?” He lifted my chin and shook me, “Why did you come?” his voice dropped quiet and gentle. “You know full well why you couldn’t stay!”

I nodded pathetically. But despair spilled the words out of my mouth.

“Please—“ I clutched at his arm, “I beg of you. Do not send me back! I cannot bear that woman. She---she is not good to me.”

He must have glanced at the hand that gripped him, because his brow furrowed and he grabbed it in his two hands. I tried to wrench away but his hold was firm. His jaw clenched hard as he intently scanned my face. Sliding my sleeve up past my elbow, he exposed the numerous welts and bruises on my flesh.

“God—have mercy, what have I done!”

I had never seen him provoked before, but quiet fury came over him. He slowly stood up, raking his hands through his hair, pacing without aim or direction. He even picked up a good-sized stone and hurled it against a nearby tree.

I began to cry. A choking, spluttering cry that squeezes one’s throat like a vice.

The warmth of his arms surrounded me, rocking me gently.

Eventually, he scooped me off the ground and bore me down the slope.

The sun was setting to our backs, casting our shadows long before us. The evening air, heavy with the scent of hay and honeysuckle, whispered past, teasing my hair and cooling my damp forehead. Into my spent and broken heart trickled a new sensation I could hardly fathom.

Peace.

Maybe there was a God who loved me after all?"