No Surprises.

We are far from invulnerable
when we fall,
when we tinkle like
the stainless steel
against
the delicate china,
but break in a frightening crash.

Except maybe, less glamour-
more clamor for lives
not yet lived and roads
not yet taken.

Maybe, maybe all we wanted
was a chat over some
mango pickles and the
monsoon passing by our windows
and sticking eager faces,
summer skin out to lap up the rain.

Maybe a time where
you and I, or them,
other manifestations of us,
loved each other for exactly
that. Each Other.
Where it was easy
and the word outside
was a reference to summer rain
and hot tea.
But, alas.