In memory of the Strawberry Moon

Two young women are sitting on the precipice. One of them looks at the sunset, while the other one gazes at her tenderly. There is a mountain landscape behind them.
Contentment by Maxfield Parrish

~Love has more shades than the sky itself.~

When I let go of your hand many moons ago, deep down, I knew I would never hold it again. I still see your ghost, now and then, hovering over the cliffs and mingling with the mist between the mountains… At sunset, your shadow haunts the valley where we used to dream. We made up stories; we gathered berries and laughed; we conjured up entire lives, intertwining our thoughts like grapevines and drinking their mellow nectar until we were intoxicated with passion.

One day, you were gone. You wandered too far away, and I kept looking for you from dawn to dusk until the starlight turned my hair silver while the full moon lulled me to sleep. And only then I saw you—walking toward the edge of the precipice.

No matter how fast I ran, no matter how loudly I called you—you did not stop. I heard a plunge—as if the void itself sighed heavily before letting you go, and then… Only silence—the silence that rings in your ears and suffocates you, even if you scream at the top of your lungs. There it was—a blue ribbon that I used to weave in your hair—a blue ribbon carried by the wind—but you were here no more.

Departure without closure—leaving without explanation: should we ever blame those who left us—abruptly, unexpectedly, with no remorse and no farewells? Or is it better to accept the gift they gave us—the gift of tenderness we nurtured before it became the deep sigh of a void in our chests? I shall seize the blue ribbon before the wind carries it away—I shall keep it close to my heart and shed no tears. When they leave, we must not become the ghosts of ourselves; when they leave, we must carry on with a smile. I smile because I remember. It is no longer you, for whom I keep searching until the amber stardust lights the spark in my eyes—no,

I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.

*Emily Dickinson

11 thoughts on “In memory of the Strawberry Moon

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