They always seem long. But maybe that's because it's harder to tell time, in a box with no windows.

[Time seems to have slowed down here, too. Maybe it's because the rhythm of her heartbeat feels slower than usual as she relaxes against him, lulled into a pleasant, dream-drowsy state as she remembers her stories and gives voice to them little by little.]

Sometimes when it rained the droplets would beat on the tin roof like drums. It would rattle so loud that no one could sleep, but that was exciting, in its way. To know that we were flying through a storm.