One Moment Away

It was a full moon Thursday night. In Pisces.

As a Pisces herself, she wondered if this one held more meaning than the others. She wasn’t exactly witchy, but she believed in the power of the universe, and she’d be damned if Mercury in retrograde wasn’t actually real. Every time it happened, it seemed to be the worst week of her life.

But this full moon was asking something of her she wasn’t prepared for.

To let go of something that was no longer serving her.

Immediately, a name surfaced in her mind.

James.

She’d known before she even let herself think it.

Whatever they’d had years ago was gone. Somewhere along the way, though, she had convinced herself that gone didn’t necessarily mean over. She’d held onto the hope that somehow they could find their way back to what they had been—to the laughter, the closeness, the version of him who had once made her feel like she mattered more than anyone else in the room.

But that version of him was gone.

And, if she was being fair, that version of her was gone too.

Maybe that was what she actually needed to release. Not James himself. Not the memories. Not even the love she still carried for him.

The hope.

The quiet, stubborn hope that one day the past would circle back around and become her future again.

And if she was ever going to let it go, Thursday night beneath a full Pisces moon seemed as good a time as any.

She read through every full-moon ritual she could find, despite having absolutely no idea what she was doing.

Eventually, she settled on the simplest one.

A candle. A pen. A piece of paper.

She gathered everything and sat down at her desk, placing the candle beside her. Its flame flickered while she stared at the blank sheet of paper.

Her mind began to reel.

What if she wrote his name down and whatever relationship they had left disintegrated with it?

What if James woke up tomorrow and decided he hated her?

Or worse—what if he woke up and realized he loved her?

What if he just needed more time?

Her fingers tightened around the pen.

She couldn't do it.

She crumpled the paper in her fist and threw it onto the floor.

Dropping her elbows onto the desk, she buried her face in her hands and cried.

The river.

The kisses.

The rainstorm beneath the umbrella.

Memories came one after another, merciless in their clarity.

Did all of that really mean nothing to him?

Why did those moments still plague her so damn much when, for him, they seemed to belong exactly where they happened—in the past?

Suddenly, she thought of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

God, what she wouldn't give for something like that to be real.

Someone could strap her into a machine and pluck every memory of James from her mind one by one. The river. The rain. His lips. His laugh. Every song she'd learned because of him. Every stupid little thing that had somehow become sacred simply because he'd been there.

Erase it all.

And then maybe they could meet again.

Two strangers with no history between them.

No resentment. No longing. No before to constantly compare the present to.

Maybe then they could start over.

But she didn’t want to forget.

The thought hit her almost as quickly as the wish had come.

She didn’t want someone to erase the river. Or the kisses. Or the rainstorm beneath the umbrella.

Those memories were the last remaining pieces of a relationship that no longer existed. Some days, she lived inside them. Replayed them until she could hear his laugh again, feel the cold river water rushing around her ankles, remember exactly how it felt when he looked at her like there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

Sometimes, those memories were the only things keeping her going.

No. She didn’t want to forget James.

That was the problem.

She wanted the opposite.

She wanted him back.

Not the man he was today, exactly. She wanted the James who existed inside those memories. The one who kissed her in the rain. The one who made ordinary nights feel like stories she'd tell for the rest of her life. She wanted to reach backward through time, grab him by the hand, and somehow pull him into the present.

But she couldn't.

Whatever had happened between then and now had happened.

What's done was done.

Her eyes drifted toward the crumpled piece of paper lying on the floor.

Maybe she didn't have to let go of James.

Maybe she didn't have to let go of the memories, either.

Maybe she only needed to loosen her grip on what she thought they were supposed to become.

She reached down and picked up the paper. Carefully, she smoothed the wrinkles against the desk and put the pen to it.

I release the hold my mind has on the relationship, and I let be what is to be.

She read the words once.

Then again.

Her chest hurt.

But she didn't crumple the paper this time.

She gently folded it into a small square and tucked it into her pocket.

She knew exactly where she needed to take it.

She grabbed her keys and ran out the door.

The red moon hung high in the night sky, unobstructed by clouds. Beneath it, the river moved steadily downstream, moonlight dancing across the surface.

There was no one else here.

Why would there be? It was ten o’clock on a random Thursday night.

Just like that night.

The first time they had come here together. The first time they had kissed and, for a little while, she had believed in magic.

She stepped out of the car, memories already running rampant through her mind.

They were so vivid that when she looked toward the river, she could almost see them.

Two shadowy figures stood in the middle of the water, clutching onto each other against the current. They wore nothing but T-shirts and underwear, their clothes abandoned somewhere along the riverbank.

She watched the shadows look into each other’s eyes.

Then they kissed.

It was beautiful.

Her vision blurred with tears, and the figures disappeared.

She didn’t wipe them away. She simply let them fall where they would.

Walking to the edge of the river, she crouched beside the water and dipped her fingertip beneath the surface, drawing lazy circles through the current.

It even felt the same as it had that night.

Some stupid, stubborn part of her hoped the moon would bring him to her.

That headlights would suddenly appear behind her.

That she would hear tires crunching against the gravel and turn around to find James climbing out of his car. Somehow, he would know she was here. Somehow, on this particular night beneath this particular moon, he would realize that he loved her too.

That he always had.

But no headlights came.

No tires disturbed the gravel.

She was alone.

Her lips pulled into a frown as another tear found its way into the corner of her mouth. She tasted salt.

Maybe this was what she needed relief from.

Not James.

Not the river.

Not the night they had spent here.

She needed relief from always believing he was one moment away from finding her.

One phone call away from telling her he missed her.

One realization away from taking her back.

That was what she needed to release tonight.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the tiny folded square of paper. With her other hand, she flicked her lighter.

The flame caught one corner.

For half a second, she almost blew it out.

Instead, she watched.

The tiny flame grew, devouring the words she had written only minutes before. Smoke curled toward the moon as the edges blackened and folded inward.

When the heat reached her fingertips, she placed the remaining piece on the bare earth beside the river and watched until there was nothing left but ash.

She stared at it for a long moment.

Then she looked up.

The moon hung above her, enormous and red, illuminating the tears still glistening on her cheeks.

Nothing felt different.

She still loved him.

She still wished headlights would appear behind her.

But for the first time, she understood that she didn't have to stand there waiting for them.

She looked across the river, toward the place where two shadows had disappeared moments before.

Her voice broke when she finally spoke.

“I can’t keep waiting for you.”