She took a deep breath and the next thing she knew, she was at the bottom of the hill, bawling. In the middle of her perfect, pristine, peaceful, almost loving meadow, all she could do was cry. Not even cries of joy, or happiness, but cries of such agony and anguish, she could feel her heart being ripped out of her chest. She hated when this happened, hated doing this to her meadow. Every time, she felt as if she was ruining the meadow, or somehow taking away some of its peace. But for some reason, she just couldn’t stop. Every time she came to this meadow, she always cried. It was as if the meadow knew what she was going through and knew that this was her only safe haven, so it let her cry as much as she needed.
“Thank you,” she softly whispered.