The Spring

Tangled sheets. We are forced to choose between a smothering blanket or the fan's cold breeze.
You're perfect, lying there eyes half shut. You're so young, so very very young. Years of living still haven't given you the experiences of The World.
It's a shame, really, that I have to be the one to give you this one. Now and again I'll look at you and see possibilities, a FUTURE. But then, I'm shamefully scared of anything so solid and unforgiving as a FUTURE; I fly by the seat of my pants and only pause to notice those I collide with.

You think you know this game-flip your brown curls and laugh, throwing your head back in giddy flirtation. You don't know that I will get what I want, eventually, and that when I do I will unequivocally change you forever. Not a big run away to California and leave everything behind change, a small change; a little bit of cynicism replacing that wide-eyed hopefulness.
You rub your shoulder, roll over on your side and unconsciously hold my arm closer. You must feel safe, here in my arms. You must feel loved and wanted.
"Run little girl. Don't stay here, you're not safe at all. I'm more dangerous then you could possibly imagine. Run while you can."
My whispers fall on deaf ears, it's too late for you anyway. You lost a long time ago; the very first time I looked you directly in your blue blue eyes.

The open window is chilling the room, but I leave it in defiance of Winter's last frost. Your shiver, and I draw closer. For tonight, at least, I can protect you.
"I won't ruin you tonight," I promise your sleeping form. Wait for the spring.