Serving Barnwell County and it's neighbors since 1852
You and I sat under the moon-bright sky taking in the world. The breath of the night caressed the surface of the lake as you rested in my arms. We sat on the grass and listened to the splashes, to the moon beams whispering at our ears.
What did we talk about?
I can’t remember.
Probably we talked about God, or music, or beauty.
Or perhaps we talked about our love, a love that would soon vanish like the glow of a candle into the dark.
The smell of your hair, the warmth of your skin stayed with me. The brightness of your eyes lingers on my memory like the gaze of verdant stars.
Those eyes, the loveliest I had ever seen, the ones that were the windows of my eternity. It was only a little while, before or after the moonbeams, that we were on that same shore under a warm sun, laying in a hammock, gazing at the trees. That’s when, for the first time, I told you that I loved you.
Your eyes burst. They swelled. They widened at my words. And panic gripped me. Were the words too soon?
The earth sighed. All went still. You stared at me. Kept staring at me.
“I love you, too.”
I imagine we both smiled. I imagine our lips met.
But I don’t remember.
Years later, I wonder about your love for me. Can love be True Love if it ends, if it is broken like a spell? We are held in awe when True Love breaks a spell, but we do not ever consider that True Love is an enchantment in itself; one that is not broken with first kisses, but with insecurities, and fragile words, and the distances of miles. It is a strong magic that can easily be unraveled by jealous hearts and capricious desire. Especially when those in the throes of its wiles are young and naïve.
So, I wonder about your love for me. I wonder if True Love can be casted aside like flowers when they start to wilt and blanche in their color under the rays of an angry sun.
All I have now are memories of moon beams, of the music of water, and of you held in my arms.
