Moonlit Memory

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Patrick and I are friends. We often walk together at the bank of Bow River. He is a good storyteller and I'm a good listener. Patrick is a wonderful poet, a poet who never wrote poetry but is a walking poem. He was silent today. What makes my poet so silent? He looked at the blue sky. Today the sky is very blue, and its blueness reminds me of blue eyes I'll never forget. I met her:

The night I met her was as if I had wandered into a dream, one so vivid that it became an indelible part of my being. The moon hung low over the Bow River, its silver reflection shimmering on the water's surface. The symphony of nature enveloped me, each note a whisper that seemed to call from the depths of my solitude.

My foot struck something buried in the soft earth - a forgotten wallet. An inexplicable urge made me call out to the figure ahead, a silhouette moving gracefully in the moon's gentle glow. "Excuse me, is this yours?" My voice broke the serene silence, the sound carrying across the still air.

She turned, and time seemed to pause. Her eyes, deep and vast as a boundless sky, met mine. Her golden hair flowed like a river, and her blue eyes, clear as the heavens after a cleansing rain, drew me into a gaze unlike any I had known.

"It is mine, and my passport is in it. Oh, my God, tomorrow morning I have a flight," she exclaimed, her voice tinged with a sadness that belied her calm facade. Tears glistened in her eyes, betraying the composure she struggled to maintain. "Are you alright?" I asked, my concern genuine.

"No," she whispered, her sobs delicate and barely contained. "It's something else."

We walked together, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words. She began to speak of literature, of books that had shaped her understanding of the world, and I listened, enraptured by her intellect and beauty. Beneath her words, however, lay a storm of emotion.

"I was supposed to meet someone tonight," she confessed, her voice trembling. "A man who promised to change my life. But he never showed up."

Her disappointment was palpable, a betrayal that had shattered her expectations. "I'm sorry," I said, my heart aching for her. "People can be cruel."

We continued in silence, the night growing colder around us. Eventually, we reached a secluded spot with a breathtaking view of the Rockies, bathed in the moon's ethereal glow. She produced a flask and a bottle of vodka, and we drank without hesitation, the warmth of the liquid mirroring the warmth between us.

In that moment, stripped of societal constraints, we were simply two beings in harmony with nature. Our bodies came together, our hearts synchronized beneath the starry canopy. It was a night of unrestrained passion, transcending time and space.

But as dawn's first light painted the sky in pink and gold, reality returned with unyielding clarity. She pulled away, her eyes filled with regret. "I can't stay," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I have to go."

"Why?" I asked, desperate to understand. "We shared something special tonight."

"I know," she said, tears streaming down her face. "But I'm not ready. There's too much pain, too much baggage. I need to find myself before I can be with someone else."

We parted, our brief encounter destined to become a bittersweet memory. She hugged me tightly, whispering a silent farewell before vanishing into the city beyond. We would never meet again, our paths diverging as swiftly as they had crossed. Yet, in the fabric of my life, she remains a poignant reminder of a night when I found myself in a stranger's embrace, a fleeting moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

Years later, as I walk along the same riverbank, I often think of her. The woman who appeared and disappeared like a dream, leaving behind a lingering sense of what could have been. She taught me that sometimes, the most profound connections are the ones that are fleeting, the ones that leave an indelible mark on our souls. And as I look up at the moon, I wonder if she ever found what she was looking for, and if she remembers that night as vividly as I do.

As I reminisced, another familiar figure joined our walk: Emily, Patrick's younger sister. She had recently moved back to the city and often joined us on our walks, bringing a fresh perspective to our conversations. Emily was vibrant and full of life, her laughter a sweet melody that lightened even the heaviest of hearts. Today, she noticed Patrick's silence too. "What's up, big brother?" she asked, nudging him gently. "You're unusually quiet."

Patrick sighed, a deep sound that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. "Just thinking," he replied, his eyes still fixed on the sky. "Do you ever wonder if we'll ever meet someone like her again?" His question hung in the air, echoing the thoughts I hadn't dared to voice.

Emily looked between us, her gaze thoughtful. "Maybe," she said softly. "Or maybe we just need to keep moving forward, cherishing the memories we have and being open to new ones."

Her words were a gentle reminder that life is a series of moments, each one precious in its own way. As we continued our walk along the Bow River, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. Patrick, Emily, and I, together, facing whatever the future held.

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