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.
Erosion of Common Memory in the 21st Century
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.
