September

And suddenly it is September, the open windows of my flat betraying the warmth inside.

Jake and I sit on the beach holding hands, the cold September night teasing us with its promise. Smoke from his cigarette curls through his fingers, tapping away at unseen melodies.
Across the way, cars flicker and weave along Kits beach, couples walk slowly by, laughing.

We have time, he says, earlier that evening. Leans over and calms my fidgeting fingers. I cannot help it, my hands move from coaster to glass, straw to coaster and back again, a pattern of shredded paper. I am unsure of my hands tonight, unsure of words and action.

Later when we lay under the moon, I can hear the ocean against his chest. We have time, he says again, smiling, his arms wrapped around me.

There is a moment, early the next morning before the rain starts, before he wakes, still smiling, that regardless of what the next heartbeat, the next minute, the next day will bring, I am no longer afraid of falling.

I am happy.