Checkmate

Do you still remember? When we would play chess whenever we could steal a moment. And it wasn't the game I loved, but the chance to sit across from you. Those moments to me are precious, because I could stare at you without feeling awkward, all while silently hoping the match would never end. So I could keep staring at your face, as you ponder your next move. And you always wore those glasses perched on your nose, the ones that made you look even smarter than you already were. I loved how you would push them up the bridge of your nose when you felt they were slightly slipping down, I loved the way you would tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. I loved watching how your eyes would dart across the board, and the way your brow would furrow in concentration, completely lost in thought. I loved how smart you were, how every move you made was so calculated and careful. And I would sit there, Across from you, pretending to focus on the board, pretending to think about my next move, but really, I was just drinking in the sight of you. Those short-lived matches were my little pieces of heaven and hell, all rolled into one. I loved you, but I never told you. You were my best friend, and I was terrified of ruining that. So, I sat there, pretending it was just about chess, when really, it was about being close to you in the only way I knew how.