King Street Station

2:07 PM Short Stories 0 Comments

 She speaks, her voice tantalizing my ear. I sit impatiently waiting, watching the Seattle greenery go past and listening to my savior. She is my siren calling to me from across the country. I can hear her song louder in my head as we approach. It reverberates against the walls I've put up around my head, shaking this castle to its very core.

 I see her tying her shoe while trying to hold the phone against her shoulder - standard cell-phone-while-busy position. She is wearing jeans with a black jacket and a yellow-orange scarf. Her hair falls beside her face, framing perfection between the strands. I do not tell her I see her right away. The moment is too perfect so I sit beside her as close as etiquette will allow, possibly a bit closer. I hang up and she doesn't look at me right away. She sits paralyzed by the moment, knowing I am there but unable to speak.

"Hey," I say to her.

"Hi," comes her tentative reply.

Eternities pass in seconds. I know what I want but am afraid she doesn't want the same. I push the thought away and gather the pieces of my heart from my feet to rest them gently on my sleeve.

"I know we are both thinking it, so I'm just going to do it."

I have never been so forward in my life. The risk pays off ten-fold. I gently grab her face and pull myself to her. There are few words that exist in the English language that accurately describe the feeling. My stomach is floating, presumably to gather all of my insecurities. Her lips are soft and warm despite the morning chill. She tastes like promise. She tastes like hope. She tastes like hot chocolate on a cool winter day.

This is my favorite place in Seattle. If I should die tomorrow, do not fret for in this moment I am truly alive.