The mist of spring

The mist of spring. Short story.

Spring usually means the start of something new. Time of love. Time of hope... We were standing in the seventh tram stop, bodies pressed close to each other. Tram ways fearfuly flashed in the street latern light. I have never seen something like that before. They faned out from the dark like a long snakes. Nearby adverstising board sighed quietly to the wind, torning of some posters, they slowly swirlded on the wet ground. Something was in the air. Sparkling thoughts filled our minds and his hands wraped around me even tighter.  In spite of everything, it was a sad glow. His soft scarf  gently touched my cheek, from time to time. His coal- black curls delicately danced in the wind. But his eyes gazed silently  right into mine. His strong hands were always able to protect me. I always felt safe. Even now, when strangers were passing by.

 An old lady was standing next to the tram timetable. With tightly closed eyes she tried to discern the  microscopic numbers. They heralded the ever-flowing stream of time. She took a small notebook and with a trembling hand movements wrote down all list of numbers. A young woman was sitting on the bright green painted bench. She was reading a book. Woman's lips softly whispered every word. With one hand holding the book she arranged her wind-mixed hair. But she never stopped reading. It seemed that her violet coat reflected the harmony that flowed from her being. A child's voice sliced the silence. There was a man standing next to the adverstising board. Some child was joyously running around him. A man showed a funny facial expression and the child started to laugh. Father's and son's love manifested in each hand movement. It was a wonderful sight.

But we were still standing in the seventh tram stop. Human silhouettes slowly sank into gentle mist of spring. Somewhere in the distance the chestnut buds were exploding, forcing us to hear the spring. A small meadow behind the tram stop, which had been covered with snow in winter, was slowly awakening. Somewhere in between the white winter feet,  green blades of grass were growing. Child's laughter mingled with the sounds that came from the nearby ice skating rink. You could hear  how countless skate pairs scratched the ice. I felt that we were running out of time. Strange, how much it ached. My heart cried quietly . I was angry and terrified. He felt my fear and kissed me gently. But I still felt the cold. We just  had a few precious minutes left until the tram will come and I will never see him again. My hands had always reached out for him, even in my sleep. But now we had only these few minutes for each other. I heard  the tram wheels clacking in the distance. The moment of pain inevitably approached. He looked in my eyes again:- " It is life. Real love took to raise you from the death, it brings you back from sleep... but it also takes you to walk away from comfort. That is how it should be." I felt even a little more angry about his remarks -

" But America...! It is too far from here!" I was unnable to organize my thoughts. He kissed me again and ,as I closed my eyes , a lonely tear drop rolled over my cheek. I know that tomorrow at this time he will be in a plane, somewhere over the Atlantic. And these thoughts made my heart bleed.

Tram quietly clacked at the stop. His strong grip let go my hand. Time stopped and the tram disappeared into the mist of spring.