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Strawberry Passion

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I could only watch her from the aisles of the station. I didn’t bother to catch the train. After all I’ve been running just to get to the here.She smiled at me from her seat through the window. She kept smiling until I couldn’t see her anymore. Despite the beautiful smile she made in front of me, I knew that she felt the same way I did and I knew very well that she was now shedding the tears she tried to hide from me. I couldn’t do anything but blame myself. It was such a shame that a man like me did nothing to fight for the girl he loved.

I met Marjorie in the Spring Festival when I came back to our small town in Wisconsin. The very first time I saw her, my heart stopped beating at once. The flowers in her long black hair reminded me of heavenly bodies that appear at the night sky. Her gentle face sparkled with the gleaming aura of cheerfulness and her dark brown eyes were the cure to a thousand sorrows. Her body was a perfectly sculptured form of femininity, gracefulness and elegance. And her smile could soften the hearts of those who forgot the meaning of passion and care. She was perfect and I loved everything about her. Marjorie helped in the strawberry harvest. It was her favorite fruit.

I wasted no time and soon courted her after the festival. At first she hesitated but finally did give in after months of my pursue. And we spent each day in heavenly bliss and sweetness.

I asked for her hand after a year. I was expecting a yes and to my surprise she turned down my proposal. I asked her to give me one good reason but she never told me. Again I kept asking until she finally told me the truth. Marjorie was sick and has reached the final stage of leukemia. Even if she was the one on life’s end it seemed like I died first the moment she confessed about her disease. Despite the heartbreaking situation she was in I insisted on marrying her, because I really loved her.

She reluctantly refused to accept my offer. Marjorie told me she didn’t want to be a burden. That she hated being treated different from anyone else. She didn’t want any special care and most of all she didn’t want to be treated as if she were sick. Marjorie also hated to see people get hurt because of her. If there was one thing that could surely make her smile… then it would be seeing her loved ones happy. And to avoid a new pursuit, which I was planning, she disappeared. Fortunately word from her friends and family spread fast and I was able to find out about her departure today. Only I came a bit late.

I feigned a smile before the train completely vanished into the fog. My feelings were all for her. Only for her. The last thing I could give for the woman I love. And all I could hope for was that Marjorie took them with her.

Then I just stood there letting the wind punch blows of harsh coldness throughout my body. The tears were falling, I was aware of it, but my body didn’t possess the ability to stop the crying or do anything else.

I didn’t hear anything from her until she sent me a letter before she died. It smelled like strawberries. I visited her grave. I tried not to cry, since it was one of her written requests, but I wasn’t able to control some of the tears the moment I saw her gravestone. I left a small strawberry tree just as she wished. And every once a week, I came to check on the tree. And as time passed the tree grew and bore leaves greener than those of the others. I was sure that soon it would bear fruit, probably the sweetest of them all.

Every time spring came, the familiar scent which made me brought a certain happiness in my heart came back. Strawberries were always in season and almost every single store was selling strawberries in all kinds of products. Every time I see or smell them, they reminded me of her. Or should I say that she reminded me of the strawberries. I loved Marjorie and I will continue loving her until I follow her to the grave. Even after her death I still have the same passion I had when I first saw her. As a matter of fact it continues to grow. The undying strawberry passion.





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