“Do you remember, Texas?”
Back then, you and Lappland would roam through her Papa’s orchard, plucking sunset-colored tangerines straight from the boughs.
Just two little Lupos who understood nothing of the world—or each other.
Her Papa’s orchard was huge.
One could lose themselves in its embrace for days, if they wished.
She would drag you through the rows, your wrist clasped in hers.
You never protested, never met Lappland’s gaze—not even when she sparred with you so recklessly that dirt clung to your hair.
She supposed, in those days, you could never bring yourself to refuse her.
Not once.
She was so oblivious back then, wasn’t she?
Lappland never realized that her words and touch were the only things capable of stirring such a complicated look on your expressionless face.
Was it so wrong?
To desire you by her side.
It was a rather innocent wish, but back then, it was everything to Lappland.
“Do you remember, Texas?”
That autumn evening.
The cluster of camellias you’d planted near the thicket—petals like spilled blood against the soil.
She didn’t understand why you wanted to keep them alive.
So, she trampled on them.
When you whispered for her not to, Lappland just laughed and crushed the rest.
She never asked why you looked so pained whenever she did such things.
…She was greedy.
Too greedy to realize you were already hers to have, and so, she kept taking more from you—so much that you had nothing left.
…
Only later did Lappland learn that those flowers you raised were meant to be pretty little gifts for her.
Back then, she took them with callous hands—crushing petals and splitting stems—never sparing a thought for the heart that grew them.
Even so—
That miserable look on your face was always so terribly beautiful, you know?
The smile on her lips, the joy she took in trampling on what you cherished—
She was foolish, never realizing how worthless all of it was.
…
Just like the flowers she trampled on, your smile, too, would have surely looked more beautiful in full bloom.