november descended warmer than expected and he tried not to let his disappointment show, walking beside her in the heart of day and listening to the way the leaves crunched and crackled beneath their feet. if it had been just a little colder, he could have offered her something, anything…his jacket, just to see the way it engulfed her little frame and watch her snuggle her hands into the fleecy pockets as though burrowing herself into a part of his life…or an arm, to slide around her and keep her close, where he was beginning to think he might want to have her always, tucked safely at his side…or his days, one upon the next, a string of firelit nights and untold stories that needed only her hopeful voice to turn roots into wings. but it was just warm enough for almost-love and she seemed to want to keep her own smile, quiet around the corners of her lips and turning up just beneath the pinkish flush of her appled cheeks.
“you never really know what day could be the best day of your life,” she said suddenly, thoughtfully, offering a sideways glance. “ever think about that?”
and he hadn’t, but now he did, and he couldn’t think of words to say other than that he knew his best days would be yet to come if they held her, framed her in like a photo collage of all your favorite things and wildest dreams and once-in-a-lifetimes. but she wasn’t ready for that, for the gravity of winter words, for she still spoke from the lightness of a summer heart that danced around the edge’s of autumn’s chill…and he wanted to say something easier, something simpler, but when he opened his mouth and turned to catch her profile in the thin light, he suddenly saw tomorrow aglow in the translucence of her skyward eyes and realized she hadn’t even wanted him to answer her at all.