Outgrown

Once upon a time there was a man who loved a girl. He loved her as a man does love a little girl: he protected her from harm, held her when she cried, and set her on her feet. And upon this time the little girl loved him as he loved her, with fast tears and strangling hugs, pretty flowers filling vases and the total and utter trust little girls give men.

It was a delicate balance, but perfectly maintained. He smiled when she fell in love, and grinned when she fell out again. And into love she fell again, and out, and in, until she was so dizzy she wasn't sure if she loved the boy she loved, or hated him.

He hated her, or so he said. "You're annoying," he told her, and left her to her tears. And the man did pick the little girl back up again, and set her on her feet, and warn her of the ways of the world.

"This isn't a game," He said, bending down and nodding his head, "pay more attention to life, Sakura."

But secretly he helped her too much, and knew it, and did it anyway. He pulled her back, and pulled her out and pulled her in and in doing so damaged her chances of becoming strong enough to not need him in the first place. But if he let her take the blows …! Surely that would damage her too? So he kept her behind him, and the boys behind them did keep her too, and so the men-boys told themselves that this was safe, for they were not alone in their protective-damaging treatment of the little girl.

The little girl, however, was not content to stay behind. She was tired of watching their unmoving backs, of being loved to uselessness. And so to the boys she bid her farewell, and to the man re-drew the line. She was no longer his little girl to have and hold and protect, but now someone to take and watch and respect.

The boys left, and he was forced to see her as she was.

"Watch my back." She told him as she slowly unfurled.

And then, unfortunately, the man saw what the boys had seen, what with his red and grey eyes he had failed to see. He understood the yellow boy's open admiration, and the black boy's loving hatred. He realised the little girl had gone on without him, had taken his flawed love and run with it to others who would put her in harm's way, let her take the blows, and see what was left behind.

As an artist must smash the rock in order to create beauty, so too must a person be allowed to be hurt to become strong.

He had loved her as a man loves a little girl, but she was no longer that girl. And when he saw, and comprehended, what was before him, it was too late. She loved him no more as a little girl loves a man, but as an adult loves an out-grown toy.

And once upon this time she protected him from damage as a daughter protects a father, as he sat and stared and laughed and finally cried, before she held out her hand to help set him to his feet. Acceptingly, regretfully, he took her hand, and together they walked towards their painful futures, side-by-side at last.