WHISPERS IN THE GARDEN UNDER THE SILVER DOLLAR MOON
Below the radiant glow of the silver dollar moon, Margarita strolled through the garden, embraced by the enchanting fragrance of chrysanthemums, lilacs, sweet peas, and azaleas. The gentle breeze rustled through the ancient maples, plum, and cherry trees, their whispers carrying an age-old song known only to the earth itself. This path held memories of her time with Dallas before he embarked on his journey to Vietnam, and the weight of impending separation rested profoundly in her heart.
As they walked hand in hand, Margarita led Dallas to a secluded stone bench, pulling him close as if trying to merge their bodies into one, releasing a deep sigh — her voice laden with sorrow. “Oh, Dal, I may never see you again. That dreadful war threatens to steal you away forever.”
Margarita recalled the tender caress of his hand brushing her cheek and the warmth of his lips against her forehead. “I must go, but I promise to return,” Dallas whispered. “Your heart will forever reside within mine, and no matter the distance, we shall never truly be apart until we meet again.”
She knew this was one pledge her beloved could not guarantee among the numerous promises exchanged between lovers. Yet, Margarita yearned for it with all her being, desperate for its fulfillment. With tear-filled eyes, she watched Dallas climb into the blue and white Mustang, its whitewall tires rolling away.
Margarita ran to her room, burying her face in the softness of her pillow, abandoning herself to an outpouring of tears. “Come back to me, Dallas. Come back to me,” she wept to the silent universe.
Dallas received life-altering wounds, but his medical condition remained unknown. The uncertainty of her beloved’s fate gnawed at Margarita, filling her days with hope and trepidation. Neither of the lovers could prepare for the future. Still, nothing would remain of the world they once shared. But that was the way of all returning veterans and those who waited for them.
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