[Dahlia]
SECTION ONE: from a lover's diary
the quarrel of lovers and her stories
~ Of thinking about their lovers who crossed the planet for another quest, their memories do not help but miss the person even more when they focus on the moon.
The moon is not a revolving star, it revolves and shines from the wishes it carries.
~ Of wishing to pause time, of being nostalgic about what they already have with them, the humans realise that time is fleeting, they think and think until the fairy of bad thoughts lingers around them, they forget to swing with the time fairy's needle and run.
The moon runs with you everywhere you go, yet you are worried it will change.
~ Of how does an inanimate star understand the humans’ language, darling, if you could hear me, it shines from the love you send, the fairy of the moon could find a spot easily in your heart if he colored a bunny on his pixie dust / The moon will find a way to your heart, you have to believe in it.
* * *
[Nainika]
SECTION TWO: dearest, you said
The moon will find a way to your heart, you just have to believe in it.
Since the day she came home from another hour-long rendezvous in the library, the moon became her guiding stone.
It’s so like her, turning a rock into a poem, into a story she read to me every night. Every kiss we shared dripped with longing and moonlight, with whispered promises of ‘We’ll run. We’ll run far away and no one will be able to catch us, just you, me and the moon.’
We never did run. We stayed, and we made a home. A sanctuary built with love and yellow paint. Little stars hanging on the roof, and the moon as our guiding lighthouse. We woke with sunlight blanketing us. It danced with us in the kitchen when I made pancakes and she made coffee, and came the next morning, ready to dance again.
When the world went quiet, when it seemed like it was only the two of us, we went and bathed in the moonlight. I tiptoed around the edges, but she glowed. The white light consumed her, and she readily ran to it. At the time she was an angel sent to me from heaven, and I worshipped every step she took.
The moon will find a way to your heart.
The last time she said that, I didn’t hear. My tongue was dry and my ears were obstructed by tears. The beeping sound of ugly machines thundered in my ears, and I wasn’t there. I was with her in bed, us under the cocoon of blankets, just talking. Talking about getting old. Talking about us.
I didn’t want to come back but the frail squeeze of her hand jolted me back to the sterile clean room. Bouquets of fresh flowers assaulted my nose, and my eyes burned.
She was laying on the bed, in a blue gown which clashed horribly with her skin. I remember thinking, ‘A world without her isn’t worth looking at, isn’t worth living in.’ Another squeeze and another slight smile, and there were no words needed.
‘I love yous’ were never spoken between us, they were shown. They were shown in the hug I received after another text from my sister, it was shown in the kiss on her forehead as she sneezed through all our tissues. It was shown in her smile in a room, in a hospital.
She was wrong, the moon didn’t find a way to me, it stayed there in orbit. She was the one who slid into my heart and arranged it piece by piece. She found a way in through the maze of sadness and hurt and planted flowers on the damaged soil. She was my missing puzzle piece in the big game of life, and now, she’s sitting on the moon, smiling down at me.
Special Edition. Contributers’ Compilation
Painting by. Adolf Hirémy-Hirschl (The Souls of Acheron, 1898)
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