I cried to the moon


Once again I find myself struggling with the thought of you. You appear in my dreams and we walk barefoot outside, on the white snow. I can see the thin cotton of your gown so vividly clutching to your breast; I can see the chill running down your spine, and picture those lovely goosebumps as I place feathery kisses onto your palm. I remember the softness of your skin and how you quivered at my touch.

I am forsaken under the pale yellow moon, my love. I cannot say how much I suffer thinking that you are not going to be a sight for my sore eyes anymore; this poor old fool, this poor woman suffers. I cried to the moon. I have hoped for the sweet goddess Selene to listen to my prayers and turn your icy flesh to a new warmth. I would watch you sleep as she watched the handsome Endymion sleep. I would still love you dearly, then. I would love you like only a woman can love another one. I would cherish the smile on your pink, thin lips. I would kiss them, and I would enjoy your warm breath so close to me.

I curse the battle that separated us. I only cling to my bow and arrows.

I will miss you until I’ll see you again. I’ll keep looking between the stars.

Until then,


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