frost

ready [y. plisetsky]

she only stood in front watching as he murmured a swift goodbye, a word she used often in the sense of leaving behind everything, from years of friendships and a mere simple head-out-the-door goodbye. in other words, goodbye or any simpler form of it was constantly in her vocabulary, thus labeled as a word she loved yet hated— all because she knew goodbyes better than anyone that goodbyes were harder than anything else. hello was only the first step to forever or brief, and goodbye was the last step of leaving or staying. hello had always been the easiest, striking up causal conversations and the ecstatic feeling of knowing someone new or reminiscing old times with a friend, old or just the same. goodbye had been the choice of everything with hello, thinking about should i stay or should i go? after everything from small talk to everyday practical jokes, it had been a ride— until the end came into view. she thought she would've been saying goodbye to him, she thought it would've been a simple farewell consisting of nothing, only a pure state of mind. and now, that mind is ruined; it's been crept in with color and filled to the corner at every touch, a kaleidoscope of discovery and new beginnings everyday only for a completely different scheme to last an hour, and a different one to be created by the touch of words and actions.

only two days had he really arrived. two days had her schemes changed screen by screen, shifting from dark blacks and blues to bright hues of yellow and red. two days of twenty four hours each and forty eight hours in total had she fallen in love. she, in her entire fifteen years of life, had never thought about the very emotion of it. once, upon the very first discovery of the word, had thought it was too much work, stupid, useless, and of course, the developmental and inevitable stage of "cooties". she had graduated from that, but still, her ideas remained— and now, they were contradicting against her. was it just mere admiration and jealously of a fifteen year old doing what she could not? she couldn't tell.

she only stood under the sky painted with yellows, reds, oranges, lilacs, and pinks— all mixing together to form a sunset, as each color crossed the boundaries between one another, the flowers arranged into a bouquet that indescribably paired with the others aesthetically and breathtakingly. the sky, she couldn't explain. this feeling, she could.

"aren't you going to say anything?" he murmured, looking upon her eyes, a rare soft gaze resting upon hers, a hardened expression of weary, awe, and a hidden mask of pain underneath the afternoon sky. forestry green, a reminder of the spring that was to come as sheets of green layered beneath white layers of snow began to grow through, a mysterious forest full of enchants and wonders as the trees grew high and tall, with vines and streams of sunlight breaking through the top and reaching the bottom, ever so desperately needing it. it was a touch of emerald sparkle, with a regal look shielding the tenderness beneath. his eyes were green. beautifully green, she noticed from the start.

"dasvidaniya," he uttered. "i'm not going to lose." he waved half-heartedly, hesitating as if just waiting for those words. she encouraged herself, you can do it. you can. and just as her mouth was about to open to speak, she couldn't. ah, the fear of rejection. the fear of losing instead of gaining. the cowardly emotion of knowing your words wouldn't make it. and so, he disappeared, his shadow dissipating as he walked further and further away, within reach.

if she just had enough time— she would've been ready. she would've been well ready to say everything etched on her mind. but now, there's no excuse. her readiness was only filled later, and still, to this day, maybe, just maybe, if she said those words, then everything would've changed. her readiness stood still as she matured, it continued to flourish, but she already knew— he was well out of her reach. be ready next time, she told herself. even if there is no next time.