Kay Sera Sera

There's a moment of silence when she stops talking. I can sense her nervousness, her need for my approval. Best of friends, even with ten years between us. Her hands are toying with the napkin on the table, as are mine. Except that, on my part, it's a delaying tactic. Playing her words over again in my head. "He's a very nice guy. Good to me. We both know it's not going anywhere but....for once, I find myself removed from all the other drama happening in my life. When it's time, we'll deal with it."
Finally I look up. Because I can't not say something. "It's not as easy as you think."
"I know," she says, as only the young can. Pushing a strand behind her ear, relief that my reaction is so low-key.
No, I think sadly, you don't. Suddenly feeling old, so old. You can't know. Until you're there. It's never easy to walk away. Or be walked away from. You think you can 'deal with it' but only with an awful lot of bruising.
I've been there. Not that long ago either. The need to experience the stuff of poems and songs. The desire for flight. The thrill of excitement, of anticipation. Taking that first step off firm ground onto thin ice. Or a deep chasm. Nothing is as blinding as the illusion of control.
I can handle it.
Breathless with a new kind of excitement. Slipping and sliding, always gaining momentum. An almost fall. Heart pounding as you catch yourself, pressing a hand against your stomach, laughing nervously because wow, that was close. But then....
If I slow my pace a bit, I can handle it.
The fall comes too fast for comprehension. A blur of motion, till you hit bottom. Struggling for breath, feeling your bruises in bewilderment. How it all hurts.
I didn't know it hurt so much.
"What?" she says sharply, breaking into my thoughts . She's getting wired up again.
"I.." I stop. How do you tell her? I have half-formed ideas of locking her in a room until she's older, keep her safe from all hurts.
"Don't invite complications. There's no sense in that." I can tell though that she's not listening. She hears what I'm saying, but she's not listening. I fall silent.
"I know what I'm doing," she says, re-assuringly.
No, I think, you don't.
But there's nothing I can do. Her wings are eager for flight.
"Well, I'm here if you ever want to talk."
A glowing smile. "I know." Flicking her hair back again, in a smooth confident move.
What will be will be.

My favourite mistake

It felt like spring was a long time coming. But it's here now and it doesn't disappoint. A perfect day. An explosion of colors. Clear blue skies, wild flowers of every hue dancing to the whims of an impish breeze, all manner of living things crawling at our feet, buzzing in our ears. Never is the world so full of hope as in spring.
It's infectious, this sense of gladness. I see it translated in the way people are walking, a bounce in their steps. You can see it in the way they absently raise their faces to the sun, the deep breaths they draw, the way they linger outside....concrete has lost its appeal. Only a precious few are cognizant of the magic in the air. But even unaware, we are touched by it. The never-ending cycles of birth and re-birth. Life growing leaf by leaf and the world, its enthralled witness.
Spring is hope. Spring is new life. Spring is to be finally free of you.

I sit on the park bench and watch you watch her. Maybe its her legs, maybe her silken hair. Maybe it's because she's greener grass. Maybe it doesn't matter why. Or maybe it does, and I don't want to know. Taking deep, trembling breaths to keep the hurt at bay. Still, I can't help watching.
As I think, I've been here before. Countless times now in our past. A never-ending cycle of depair and self-directed loathing. Nothing you do can make me leave. And you don't have to do a thing to make me stay. A craving that won't be stopped...but oh, the bitter taste. Now here I am again, watching you watch another. My favourite mistake.
It's been a long, long winter. Never has spring been so long coming. When it comes, I wonder..will Spring disappoint?