Hot Cocoa

A knock on the door
You rub your eyes and open it.
He stands there, wordless,
a mug of hot cocoa in his hands;
An olive branch.
You make the mistake of looking in his eyes;
Brown meets hazel and you remember.
You remember a seedling, planted together in his backyard.
The lost balloon you cried over until he bought you 10 more.
The scar from the bramble you got
while racing him to the top of the tree house.
You won, though he’ll never admit it.
The hot cocoa you made him after your first big fight,
When you promised you’d always be there.
This time, his eyes say, it’s my turn.
You take the hot cocoa.