Fate

She had begun to walk up the driveway when she saw him – a small, thin
boy with mud spattered clothes on, his strawberry blond hair was
pulled off his face by two pink clips and he had a rusty rake in his
hands. She'd never met the neighbour's son before; in fact she'd never
met anyone from that family. But he looked sad so she decided it was
time for a 'little man' talk.

Bending to his height she said, "So, how old are you little man?"

"Four. And whom should I say is asking?"
"Haha. Well, not since breakfast have I met someone as old as you!"
"And who did you meet at breakfast?"
"Well, I have a little girl who's almost you're age. She'll be four in
the fall."
"That's lovely. I don't know anyone my age!"
"Maybe you should come over some time..."

Just then the thick wooden door flew open and a freckled face appeared.

"Come in for dinner son. And what have I told you about playing with
rusty things and talking to strangers?"

Just as quickly as it had begun, the conversation was over, with no
more smiles than there are clouds in an autumn sky. And though the
boy's family moved away in the fall, the two children met once,
accidentally.
---
Nineteen years later, he takes the bus home from work. A girl gets on
the same bus and finds an empty seat besides the boy with strawberry
blonde hair. Their eyes meet for a second and she feels like she's
known him for ages.

She sits down. They exchange pleasantries and get off the bus long
before either of their stops have passed. Now they're walking
down an unfamiliar street, going nowhere in particular.

The Proverbial White Handkerchief

A dangerous chill scratched at the French windows and the sun wouldn't be up for hours. It was that time of night when even the wolves couldn't bear to be outside. It was no time to leave but the war was almost over and the battle flags were rising to the mast.

He sat by her bedside and whispered softly,

"I know you need space, and I'm willing to give it to you. But if I followed you halfway across the Universe, where would that leave me?"

She nodded and the tears began to fall.

"That would leave me sad, alone and in a different country, just like you."

"Well, at least you'd get to see a different country, do you want to stay here all your life?"

He threw his hands up and left. She reached for the immaculate handkerchief, wiped up her tears and felt the long-awaited sinking feeling.

"Do you have anywhere to go today?", she asked.
The other nodded.
They lay still, arms entwined, and the silent strains of morning flit in through the open window.
It's always calm in the eye of the storm.
Their hands are now in disarray.

Red hair with a curl...

At the back of his mind, he remember it all, like cobbled stones on a familiar path. The red hair was always everywhere. When she left, he would clean. He's pick all the silken strands off his bed, then get on his knees and pick them off the floor and put them all in a little box by the window. He remembers the little freckles she had on her thighs and the way her mouth would curl when he told a lie. Now he stands at the window, watching them falling fast to the street like feathers too tired to fly away. She will be coming back. But he doesn't know that yet.

Violent Thread

String of detached Haiku...
  such beauty in
    white exists as the spring
        to daffodil comes

gently bend the winds
    in folds of silent mourning
        heart strings softly wrung       

a freedom within
    like intangible rain fall
        in empty glass hearts

and I hold it still
    every word that I have known
        is bloody useless