Peace had become a foreign feeling. So many years had passed since the last time you'd felt any kind of peace or calm. You now lived in a world where the only goal was survival. Nothing else mattered. There was no time for a morning spent sipping coffee or late nights reading by the moonlight.

Despite every part of you knowing that letting your guard down could very well be a fatal mistake, Daryl had forced you too. His presence relaxed you too much. It made you reckless. It was going to be the cause of your demise and you knew it. Or, you could choose to believe that miracles really did exist and enjoy all of the stolen moments.

The door creaked as you opened it. Tonight's house was nicer than usual. Someone had clearly been living in it up until recently. Daryl seemed to have returned from his run before you, his bag was slung over the couch. It was just the two of you now. You two never stopped moving for more than a few days. Staying some place too long was a big risk. The attack on the prison had made both of you more cautious. Knowing that your friends were most likely gone or the living dead made every breath feel like a gift.

This situation made you feel terrible for every smile, every brief moment of peace whenever Daryl's hand would brush yours. The guilt would consume you if you didn't figure something out. But, you would learn to live with it. That was the world you lived in now. All you could do was learn to live with things.

"Did ya find anything good?" Daryl's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He walked in the living room, a jar of jelly in his hand. His hair was more unruly than usual you noticed. However his eyes were more relaxed. "This town seems to have done better than most," he commented. You certainly agreed. It was one of the only places you two had found with any decent food left.