The Moon

(February 25, 2011)

 

The Moon outside seems to understand what’s wrong as it sadly glows outside her window panes. If only she could leap out and up to join her. They could dance and float around the sky together, forget the world, and its problems. Those dreams seem millions of miles away now, as she lies on her side with silent tears streaming down her face.

 

She replays the events of the afternoon and evening in her mind, wondering how on earth she is suppoused to make it through school tomorrow. Her stomach plays a deadly churn inside her, and she doesn’t know how she can function.

 

Her eyes are red and puffy, her eyes and heart all cried out. She is heavy with hurt and betrayl. Picturing a million different ways tomorrow will play out, each one worst than the next. There is only one good one. And that is impossibility at it’s finest. She curses at the world and tries to fall asleep without avail.

 

The only things that come like a haunting are the memories of that summer, the ones that were so brilliantly beautiful to her. Now all they are, all they will be, are the cursed reminders of what will never be again. She sniffs, and rolls onto her back, away from the comfort of the moon.

 

She doesn’t know why it hurts so badly, it isn’t as if she cared anyway.

Yet she doesn’t know, doesn’t know anything anymore it seems.

Slowly she dozes off and sleep accepts her with open arms, known how exhausted she is.

 

Sleep reluctantly lets go in the morning, yet leaves traces of itself the rest of the day. She gets out of bed, groggily refusing to look at me, as she trudges downstairs. She slowly eats, as if trying to delay the time she has to return to face reality. Walking back upstairs, she still refuses to look my way.

 

During the normal morning routine, which seems so ironic considering how drastically her life has changed, she finally takes a good hard look at me before walking out the door.

 

I stare back at her.

 

Studying her as she studies me.

 

We have the same blue eyes, tall build, blonde hair, even the same outfit.

She groans, she cannot ever escape me no matter how hard she tries, or how deep the desire runs.

 

Before she leaves I get one last look at her. The blue capris and long sleeved blue shirt is becoming, even though the shirt is too big for her. For the first time in two years she wears her glasses, and I am proud of her for making a change. Her long hair is brushed into a ponytail, and she wears those old beat up and now grey Converse. I smile at her, at our similarities, and she gives me a small and hesitant smile in return. “Don’t ever look back” I mouth to her, she understands, I know she does. As we grab our coats, she takes one last look at me, I smile at her and turn away. Encouraging her to follow my example.

 

She may want to get rid of me, but that, is impossibility at its finest.

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