It was already dusk when she had finally finished her story with the poet, a day-and-a-half after I'd been lost in the tranquility of the vast expanse of the Appalachians.
"Look," I said to the girl, "my time with you has been wonderful, but I have yet to return home."
"Just like what the poet had said." said the girl.
I nodded at her answer but gave no reply.
"When do you plan to return home then?"
I hadn't made a choice yet, but I remained adamant the entire time, planning my course of action for tomorrow.
As soon as the night ensues, the girl eventually fell asleep in the comfort of my tent again, and so in my time of leisure with myself, I spent the entire night considering once more how I was going to go home.
Despite how pleasurable the feeling might be living at ease in the mountains, I, for one, somehow had felt missing where I lived, despite how rugged its ambiance and environment may be. Maybe because we've all somehow become used to it over time, to the point even the cruelest things we see are the standard and deed done well is already the expense at a cost? Somehow, maybe I'm right, maybe I'm wrong.
YOU ARE READING
Under the Moonlight
Short StoryWould you believe me if I said I met a girl in the mountains years ago? As if anyone would! I find it difficult when folks refuse to believe the extraordinary, usually because they are too accustomed to the mundane. But, in any case, I don't seek to...
