Your eyes are full / Full of the future of us
(The Thief - Brooke Fraser)
--
Once, her window pane was nothing. She noticed it only when spiders crawled along it in summer or winter icicles formed beneath it. She would lean upon it, looking out to the mass of forest, and snap them off. One by one. She would know they were at last heading towards spring when none had formed to break. And then, suddenly, it was more.
Robin's first climb to her window was quick but clumsy. She watched as he pulled himself up by the horse-tying rung, his arms only just reaching high enough. This summer just past he'd been half a head smaller than her. Now she came up to his chin. It was not smooth, not this first time. His legs banged against the post, and he fell against the roof rather than leaping onto it.
This first time it was only to yank at her hair for calling him Bobbin. Another time he came to threaten her with a glob of mud as she stood there in a new dress, minutes before her birthday supper. (She got him back, later, right in the chest. While he was still wearing his best shirt.)
And then there is that afternoon. He moved across, took her hand, paused. In his eyes were emotions she recognised, felt in herself, but couldn't name.
And then he kissed her, the beginnings of a beard scratching at her cheek.
--
end.