Whirlwind | W.M.

21

Seattle, U.S.A
2004

"Why do you watch this so much?" Lara quips from beside me, wearing her sunflower dress with a mess of pads and paints covering the floor before her.

We were sitting in the living room, our mother upstairs— locked in her bedroom since the start of the day. I promised Lara we'd play later in the afternoon and luckily, she may have forgotten since she was so enamored by drawing that she had stopped pestering me to go outside.

I was on the couch, curled up with a pillow pressed to my chest and tears brimming my eyes as A Walk to Remember played on the screen while Lara looked up at me with her brows quirked and fingers covered in colors like she had just waded through a rainbow.

"Because I like it." I mumble amidst little sniffles that I tried to keep subtle. A small smile peppers Lara's face as she crawls up to the couch, taking the spot beside me as she reaces over to wipe my tears with her little, colorful hands.

"S'Okay to cry." She mumbles with a tender smile, smearing her colors all over my face as I squirm beneath her touch.

"Stop— Lara!" I complain, stifling a laugh as she bursts into a fit of giggles.

"See? Now you look pretty. You don't have to cry anymore." She beams as I click the television off, getting a blurry view of my reflection through the pitch black screen and quite frankly, I looked like a melting party clown.

"I love it! Come here and give me a hug!" I fake a smile, watching her eyes light up almost in disbelief as I open my arms.

"Really?" Lara breathes happily, nearly tossing herself into my embrace when I flip us over, putting my weight on top of her as I dip my fingers on the paints below and smear it on her little face as revenge.

"Really!" I exclaim amidst laughter, Lara trying to fight me off, thrashing beneath my grip as rolls of giggles fall from her lips.

Eventually, I let up and get off of her but only when she looks even worse than me. Nearly most of her face was a mix of green and red, even going over her eyebrows and lips as she gets a glimpse of herself on the television screen's reflection. Lara squeaks at the sight, bringing her hands up to her paint covered face almost in disbelief as she continues to stifle her laughter.

"I look like an alien." She breathes happily, plopping back down onto the couch as I watch her with an adoring smile.

"A pretty one. Maybe even prettier than me." I wiggle my brows, watching her smirk grow even fonder at my words.

"We look pretty." Lara agrees in a proud nod, shifting to lay her head down on my lap as the entirety of her little body stretches out the length of the sofa.

"We do." I hum, absentmindedly running my fingers through her hair I click the television back on through the remote.

"So why do you watch that so much if it keeps making you cry?" Lara circles back to her original question, looking up at me with big, curious eyes as I hum in thought.

"Because I adore the kind of love they have." I reply simply.

I thought it to be the bravest love of all, to give somebody your heart despite knowing how it ends. Some would argue that risking in the face of fate and mystery was a lot harder— but I care to disagree. It's much more torturous to know how it all ends, to know, for an inevitable, unchangeable fact that you're going to lose them anyway and to choose to still lay your heart on the line solely based on the promise of a love that was meant to die.