She wakes up and stares at the ceiling. The ever-present wind howls, muted. She sits up as he enters the room, dropping face first onto the bed across her legs. He yawns lazily and raises an eyebrow at her. She absent-mindedly pats him on the head and plods out the room.
In the afternoon, she finds him, as usual, sprawled out on the roof, watching the clouds. She runs a hand through her tangled blond hair. The wind is fussing now, speeding across the desert spread out in front of them. Sand pricks at her face and she squints. She watches him watching the clouds and remembers the first time they met. He had been watching the clouds back then too. He was a lazy oaf, and he still is. She can't understand the peace he finds in the clouds.
The day passes slowly. She sits at the desk as messengers run in and out, piling her desk with reports. She looks out the window and sees nothing but a barren wasteland. This is the country that she leads. She stares at the teacup at her table. She notices that it's cracked. She realizes that it's been cracked for a long time.
He goes for a walk. The sand sucks at his legs, and the wind pushes him back forcefully. He tries to hum but all sound is swallowed by the wind, and the air is snatched from his lungs. He stops trudging forward and the sand takes this tiny chance to claw at his legs. He looks all around him; he can't even see the village anymore. He can't understand the peace she finds in the desert.
She is drinking when he slips into the room, sand trailing behind him in his footsteps. She watches blearily. He shrugs and sits. His shadow passes him a mug. She smiles faintly at his laziness. The mug she holds remains cracked.
The next day brings a visitor. The visitor is a blonde standing sheepishly at the doorway of their bedroom; only he is bold and foolish enough to invade her privacy like that. He greets the blonde and the blonde replies cheerfully. They grin at each other and shake hands heartily. The blonde greets her as well, shyly, quietly, uncharacteristically. The blonde's sky-blue eyes wander to the window and the sight of the desert steals a little light from his eyes. Around the blonde's neck hand a handcrafted hourglass, filled completely with sand. It is worn and scratched and the wooden frames of the hourglass are splintering.
She couldn't find the blonde. He told her to leave the blonde alone and she consented, only if it was because she has so much to do. He told her that he would go look for the blonde, later, later, would she stop worrying. She nods.
The blonde is back the next day. He tells her that the blonde is leaving. She moves to tell him goodbye. His blond hair is grey with dust, his sweater covered in ash-like sand. His hourglass is gone. The blonde tells both of them, farewell, see you again soon. They nod.
The wind is silent and the sand of the desert is still. In the middle of it all, an hourglass lays broken, empty. The sky starts to cry, filling it with tears.
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A/N: Sorry if it was confusing.