Thus With a kiss

My knees soak up the snow, but all I can think of in this moment is the way her long brown hair waves behind her as she walks away, as if to say goodbye. It twirls in the icy breeze like the few remaining leaves on the trees surrounding us.

Our secret cove. This bleak patch of forest where we don't have to hide our true intentions from our families, our friends, our fears. The late-afternoon sun, weak to melt the December snowfall, peaks through the bare branches up ahead, creating a silhouette of her graceful yet determined walk. The colors of her blood-red coat and black trousers begin to blend with those soft brown locks, which I can still feel flowing over my hand from moments ago. When I say this, I mean it with all its complexities and intricacies, its beauty and darkness, its profound torment: I love her.

Our moments together were fleeting, and sometimes even days of pretending, of feigning passion for a family feud we would kill to end, would pass before we could reconvene. The goodbyes were always hard. But this one....

It's been agony upon beautiful agony, our little Romeo and Juliet story. She told me once, while holding my dagger to her heart for emphasis, that she'd die before losing me. Then she'd kissed me.

I shiver now, but the warmth feels good as my blood spills down my torso. A cold betrayal. 'Twas not her own heart she pierced, but mine.