“She’s not here!” I shout to those around me. They murmur in consent and regroup for another location. Another direction. Another day to go by without her.
She’s not here.
The wild bushes lush with berries, ripe and heavy, were left untouched.
She’s not here to taste them. To stain her fingers and draw a moan of joy from her lips -
It’s been three days and the woods beyond the raspberry patch stretches beyond my reach.
She’s beyond my reach.
How long can she survive out there?
How long will I without her?