I was waiting for the moon to peek through the horizon as the wind persuaded the clouds above to drift pass. The sight made me feel like I was also hooked onto the swaying clouds. Suddenly, it started drizzling but my eyes eagerly waited for the first glimpse of the moon; I knew, despite the clouds, the moon would show up for me.
Then it appeared, bright, yet calm, over the horizon. I never felt its light illuminating as bright as it had that night, even if it was raining. How can I forget that rainy spring night that a rose landed in my hand? Her name was Rose, prettier than any rose that had ever blossomed.
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The moon had just risen, but I was already tired of its fake smile. I’d started wishing it wasn’t there. Instead, the absence of wind and rain brought about some pain in my heart. Then, I longed for my rose too.
The rain ceased, and with it, she loosened her grip and slipped by. I was left alone. The moon started crying for me. I stayed here for five days and five nights unmoved just waiting for her to come back; it rained, the wind blew and the moon smiled with the night, but she never appeared.
I searched for solace in a cup of tea. I remember her affection for tea, especially on chilly nights. I would sweat, and she’d make a joke on it. We made many memories. But now that she’s gone, I don’t feel like laughing either. All that is left is her memories, and the hours we spent on that rainy spring night.
