My Dear Friend

On a brisk, cloudless, moonlit night, I promenaded atop the verdurous, dew-saturated grassy ground. One hand was precariously tucked within the front pocket of my hooded sweater, the other grasping a humble gift. My eyes lowered towards the ground, thoughts dispersed all over in solemn contemplation.
And my heart was longing for my beloved friend.
The corner of my eye caught a glimpse of ivory scintillation radiating from the empyrean, gibbous moon on the surface of the mere below.
I halted my sauntering and observed this sight for sore eyes.  Before me was a grassy, pleasant precipice that hovered above the ample lake. Enticed by this natural, luxurious spot, I felt beckoned to approach it.
I stood over the mere, admiring how the moon’s magnificent aurora seemed to provide the impression that it had gilded a vast, coalesced region of the body of water.
Without a second thought, I planted myself on the apex of the precipice, legs dangling nonchalantly, and appraised the scenic composure of the view. The plethora of stars and heavenly spheres on the firmament had me enamored.
In my hand, I clutched the stem of a white rose, supplied to me by a debonair and amicable horticulturist, who had yet to find out why I inquired a single white rose from their superlative garden.
It was here, where I waited…I waited for my friend. As I glanced out at the mere and the glistening water below, I waited, my heart yearning for my friend, thoughts questioning as to their whereabouts.
I soon became anxious, waiting their joining me, but I remembered patience was key. My eyes veered up towards the sky, my eyes remained anchored on the moon, reminding me of how they were enchanted by this celestial body.
And how could they not be. It’s pulchritude and glory was perennial.
Just then, I heard a voice quietly utter behind me, “I missed you.”
Instantly, my soul felt a jolt of euphoria, and I gingerly turned my head half-way, grinning a bit.  She gently sat down beside me, and took in the serenity of the view.
I quietly whispered, “I missed you too.” Our cheeks both blushed a mild, pink tinge, and we both smiled a tad.
Feeling rather timid, I quietly uttered, “I brought you something.”
I handed her the white rose the horticulturist had let me pluck. I saw her stare at it, and she lifted a hand to conceal her diffident smile. Knowing her taciturn yet warm and compassionate disposition, he took her accepting of the rose as a reticent “thank you”.
She gently wrapped her arm around my bicep, and she leaned her head on top of my shoulder.  
“Sometimes”, she said, her eyes stationary on the glistening lake in front. “I feel as though you’re the only friend who’s there for me.”
“I feel the same way,” I responded, my eyes fixated on the same lake. “But I’m not perfect. I’m highly-flawed, and I feel like I do nothing.”
“That isn’t true,” she said, nuzzling her head slightly against my arm. “You’re the friend who I miss the most.”
“I miss you so much, as well. I only feel at peace talking to you”.
“Do I really bring you peace?”
“Yes. You’re the only person who soothes my personal anguish”.
My dear friend sighed placidly, and her sad, soulful eyes gazed down at the mere.
I continued. “You’re my friend. Everyone else out there is so preoccupied and conceited, I feel like no one else listens to me or is willing to hear me. At least you care, at least you’re willing to mitigate my sorrows”.
My eyes began sparkling with tears. I couldn’t suppress them. “You…you’re just…you mean so much to me…”
I couldn’t prevent my voice from trembling and sounding staccato-like. “I suppose…I…I just feel so grateful for you…”
I lowered my head and shut my eyes, slightly abashed that I was weeping in front of her. But then she gazed up at me, and I noticed a few tears slithering down her own soft cheeks. For moments, we were both wordless.  
As our tears streamed down our faces, she lovingly reached up and wiped away the sorrowful tears that poured from my eyes.
“Please…” she whispered softly. “Don’t cry. You mean so much to me.”
Through my tears, I smiled a bit, and she did the same. I slowly reached down to wipe her tears away as well, but when my eyes blinked…she had vanished, just as mysteriously as she had come.
My hand remained in mid-air. I gently lowered it, and I wiped away the remaining tears in my eyes, by myself. I glanced down, and noticed the white rose lying by my side. Beautiful, but appearing lonesome and forlorn.
I scooped up the rose, and I held it close over my heart, smiling as I almost felt her delicate hands brush away the tears of agony. I gazed forward, and I held out the white rose, and let it free.
The wind whisked it away, letting it glide and float peacefully. The wind made the tides of the lake splash against the stones of the precipice below, almost as if the water were singing a sort of serenade. And with that, I turned around and walked away, thinking of my dear friend.
So close, yet so far.
Category:Fiction