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Rated: E · Prose · Romance/Love · #872879
Inspired by painting by Monet called Garden at Sainte-Adresse.
My love is leaving. He says not why, perhaps he doesn’t know either. It’s a shame, really, wasting this beautiful place on such a bittersweet moment. The waves dancing, the flowers abloom, and the ships sailing away in the distance. Maybe it’s a metaphor of some sort, the ships. As they drift away, so does our love. Oh, he looks so handsome in his brown tailcoat, black top hat, and that cane he always insists on carrying. He says it makes him look svelte, I say it makes him look foolish.

We’ve lasted so long, if only we could endure a little bit longer. The things I should say... that I love him, and don’t want him to leave. How can he be leaving me? How can he say goodbye at the very place we fell in love? I can remember the exact moment... our eyes met across the rose bushes, and we couldn’t take them off each other all night. We thought we’d never let each other get away...

He can’t go, he mustn’t, I can’t live without him!

Alas, all I can do is give a false smile, and talk of how we may meet again. We both know, in our hearts, we won’t. I tilt my head slightly and laugh as he makes a joke, then, as my smile fades, he looks with concern.

“Don’t fear for me, my dear. You shall always hold a place in my heart.”

“I know,” I lie, as I turn away with tears in my eyes. Lowering my voice into a whisper, I say, “I’ll miss you, my love.”

He kisses my cheek gently with his soft lips, then moves his face towards my ear and murmurs, “I love you,” then takes the slow walk towards his new life. I look on after him, as he walks through the courtyard. He turns as he reaches the street and nods his head at me. My hand slowly rises as I wave my final goodbye. My love has left.
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