Two Bittersweet Lattes and a Macaron

Prologue

IT HAD NEVER OCCURRED TO ME how I'd truly felt staring into the space gray in his eyes until he'd left. They were a unique shade; as if a shatter of the moon fused in with a hint of midnight's dark blue hue. Looking back, gazing into them that night had brought a feeling of comfort, but also oddly of heartbreak. Even through the countless years we'd known each other, I was oblivious of the slight bittersweet warmth around him at the time.

On that day, we were sitting cross-legged, side by side, out on a field at the park in our neighborhood, under the endless night sky sprinkled with stars. Everyone else had returned home by the time we'd met up there. It was just me, him, and the sky above. A peaceful silence hung in the air as we both inhaled the cool, crisp night air.

"The last day of spring..." I trailed off, plucking two blades of grass and knotting them together. As I began to make my third knot, something light dropped on my head.

"Here," he said smiling, satisfied at the intricate crown of daisies he made in record time. "It looks good on you."

"Of course it does. Has anything looked bad on me?" I replied promptly, pretending to act snobby. I concluded my sentence tossing my loose ponytail, then started to laugh.

He grinned, laughing along.

"That was a horrible joke, wasn't it?" I added, after we both calmed down.

He reached over and adjusted the flower crown on my head with an affectionate smile. "Nah, not really. But you have to agree that I'm a million times better than you at joking right?" He winked and patted my head twice. He then gently pushed it to rest on his shoulder.

"It only feels like yesterday when you moved in next door. I can't believe it's been six years already." I sighed. I dug my face sleepily into his white cotton sweatshirt, taking in his minty scent.

"You're going to stay with me forever, right?" I mumbled, my voice dampened with my face in the fabric.

After this statement, I pulled a little bit away from him and gazed into his dark, puppy-like eyes. There was uncertainty in the air, just for a split second. I could've sworn I saw something strange pass by.

He smiled and looked down at me. "Yeah, why would you ever think otherwise?"

I could feel the gentle summer breeze tickling my cheeks as I felt his head turn towards mine. It all happened too suddenly: our lips locked in each others, his hand in mine. My heart beat faster than it had ever before. I could only hear the pounding of my heart go bu-bump when I closed my eyes as my breathing started to grow sharper. As we pulled away when the last breath of air left us, he grinned, flashing a dimple on his left cheek. The pale moonlight reflected off of his jet-black hair, shining silver, and made his already breathtaking features ethereal.

All of a sudden, I noticed that the air around us had grown hotter than it had been before. My hands quickly went to my cheeks, and I realized that heat was practically radiating from them. Blushing, I dug my face into his shoulder one more time, and he let out a warm laugh. It wasn't our first kiss, but kissing still made me feel bashful.

Nineteen, the year that acts as a bridge between our awkward teen years and the beginning of adulthood. Nineteen, laidback and carefree. Nineteen, the age where we make mistakes and reflect on them. Nineteen, a beautiful time of our youth.

I can still hear the laugh his deep voice used to make, four years later from that day. I'm not sure. I'm still figuring it out. Was he my first love? Or was it just childhood attachment. I don't know. Sometimes, I wonder. "Would he still be alive, breathing by my side if only I hadn't asked him to come over?" Sometimes, I blame myself. "He would." Other times, I ask myself if I would ever move on. But all of these roads always lead back to the truth; I still loved him, and I missed him. A lot.