The girl sat upon the fence paling, breathing in the winter air and watching the snowflakes fall on the gravestones. She wore her summer dress, and though it chilled her to the bone, she didn't shiver, nor did she complain. She was content. She was happy. And despite the voices and the people and this whole damned city surrounding her, she felt free.
She thought she could feel the weight of wings on her back, and for a moment she believed the impossible; maybe she really could fly away from all this – to a place where nobody knew her name. Somewhere, anywhere, beyond the city.
And the boy watched her, wondering.
The cemetery was peaceful in this sad sort of way. Each bouquet was withered or buried beneath the snow, as though the universe was slowly pulling the departed farther and farther away from everyone that would ever remember them; deep into an oblivion so perfectly distant from our reality. And sometimes, the girl wished for a peace like theirs. And sometimes she wondered if anyone would miss her if she were to go. But for now she was glad that she had held on just a little longer, just in time to see the snow fall and feel the cold on her skin.
She wondered what else there was that was worth waiting for.
The boy pushed himself off the oak and approached her, a thousand questions flooding his mind.
I wonder if she feels the cold. I wonder if she writes poetry or reads novels or sings songs. I wonder if her mother ever tucked her into bed at night, or if she wishes on dandelion petals or talks to the moon. I wonder what her voice will sound like if she speaks to me, I wonder if her eyes are blue or grey or green. I wonder if she wonders the way I wonder, too.
But he never questioned why she'd sit and watch the graves each day, or why she always smiled to herself on the coldest winter mornings or why she was always alone or why her feet were always bare.
Because he'd been doing the same for what seemed like an eternity.
She didn't look up when he spoke.
"Hello,"
She just smiled to herself.
He pulled himself up to the fence paling she sat atop and rested beside her. Their knees were almost touching. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes as hie scanned the graveyard, but the girl didn't see. All she saw were the headstones, her head filled with memories of Sunday evenings and snowstorms and falling and … him.
"You look like a Rosie to me." he said. "Or a Jenny. Or anything that ends with an 'ee', I guess." He grinned. "Maybe you'll tell me someday and I can give you a really awesome nickname." He cast his gaze over to the girl once more, and sighed. "Maybe not," he rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke.
He hunched over at looked at his feet, which she noticed were bare; just like her own. There was a moment's hesitation, and then:
"Rapunzel." her voice was quiet.
He looked at her, confused.
"Rapunzel," she said again. "My name is Rapunzel."
His eyes grew wide, and for a moment he was spellbound. He was a deer caught in headlights, and all he could do was stare. He looked at her eyes. Green, he noted. She looked over and saw his pale skin and his white hair and wondered about his story, about his past.
Then the boy let out a breath of air as he beamed at her, as though he had been holding it in this whole time. And his smile lit up his eyes and he looked so innocent and fragile, and so damn happy. A grin spread across her face and she smiled back, and from that moment it was inevitable – they were no longer strangers anymore.