King | Short Story

To Lara

Dear Lara,

It was around Christmas time, sophomore year. The town was pretty cold, snow flakes all around, red cheeks and noses, Santa Claus's, lights, Christmas trees. Everything seemed pretty beautiful.

But to me, the most beautiful thing in the weather was the way you snuggled into your own arms when you were cold, the way you pulled at the sleeves of your sweater and cupped your hands around your nose to block the freezing winds, the way you sneezed inaudibly into your hands like I knew I never could. 

I was in love. I was in love with every single thing about you. 

I remember us sitting next to each other on the table for the Christmas dinner our families have together every year, the ones you now avoid because of me. I remember me trying to get closer to you, trying to give you my warmth and feel yours. I remember our hands brushing when we reached for the same dish at the same time.

I remember feeling flustered but so damn happy to be around you, to have your attention. I know you wouldn't believe all this, but it is true.

I wanted you. And I wanted you to have me.

I was dying in that thin, good-for-nothing, jacket I was wearing as I waited for you to open the door of your house. Carrying mom's home baked cookies, it was the day I decided I would finally ask you out. You looked super cute in your tight jeans and yellow hoodie when you let me in, led me up to your room and we sat down next to each other on the bed, the closest we had ever been.

When I asked you to get coffee with me sometime, I meant to keep you on the long run, I really did.