Walk two moons

Oh, there you are.

There's a new moon out tonight.

But it was just whole last night.

Yes, it was.

That's scientifically impossible, Lily.

Hasn't anyone told you? There's two of them now.

So I'm not crazy?

No, don't worry. Some people even see three or four.
Having two up there is enough to make anyone cry;
I don't know how they handle it.

Her eyes flashed me a warning last night:
She told me to tell you to be careful.

I know. I only looked up once, I don't want him to know I saw.

It's hard to tear away though, I've never seen her kiss the stars,
or invite anyone to join her. She's becoming cold.

She's grieving.

His rays are different, tender almost. They love to play across my shoulder blades.
Sometimes when the roof is between he and I,
I can't help but smile at the thought of dancing beneath him tomorrow,

Lily, no.

But then I look to the East and she's still there, constant...stoic.
It took a while to conjure my truth and my only
with the taste of silver tingling beneath my tongue.

Silver. Lily, you've become prey.

I worried that she'd developed another pockmark watching me;
that I'd be watching her light snuff out with my next breath.

She's lost so many to him already.

So I held it until I could talk to her again.

But you look to be alive.

Well, I cheated. I had to breathe if I was ever going to climb
the vines to our meeting place on my home.
Don't think I don't feel guilty about it, already having strayed.
I could have cried when she smiled.
It's been two months since she's taken it out of her drawers.
I'd begun to think she was saving it for someone else.

She loves you, Lily, you know that.

But does understand how deeply I am bound to her?

I'm su-

I haven't told her. I haven't shown her. She needs a world fit to shine,
I could never give her that. Countless times I've pointed skywards,
only to be met with blank stares.

They don't see her.

I'm stripped and raw and bleeding.
the only love she'll ever be touched with is my own.
even now my skin's aflame!
She's dying without them, and you're telling me
they don't see her?! I said she's dying up there!

They're blind, darling. You have to understand
not even I have seen her clearly. I live too close to the new moon now.
He's got tricks for each of us.

No, not you...please. She's so scared.

This could be the last time we speak, Lily, he's pulling me in.
So you have to listen.
You're the only one of us who's resisted for this long.
You're the only one who can see her anymore,
possible the only one who's ever seen her face.

I struggle, ha, no, that's far too mild.
You know when a constellation blinks out for good, how you hear the world slung on it's own shoulder, heaving it's lament?
How the careening screech of metal and gears surrounds you when the machine keeping your dearest alive stop for good?
Do you remember having your soul ripped away from you?

imagining her alone is much, much worse.

She's told me I am enough, but I can't begin to believe her.
How could this starscreecher, a goliath,
think I wouldn't see the sorrow behind her eyes?

She could cry galaxies.

She wasn't lying, she just might not believe it yet.
You can't blame a monolith for grieving when it's facing it's death.

Give her everything you have, forget us.

He's not stopping until he takes everyone, is he?

We're waning fast, and we're not coming back.

We'll save you a spot in the infinite, dear.

You know, this is the closest I've come to that year in a very, very long time. The anticipation lacks soul though.

It's like this: A single Autumn leaf shivers to the ground, where the wind,
inexplicable in it's intoxicating scented spikes, picks it up and drops it outside of a bookstore.
Now the bookstore, oh, that's where the magic is.

The pages all smell like the trees they were made of, that is to say a nondescript mix of several,
and that's okay. I love that smell. Not as good as the shoe scuffed carpet, but close.

You find this one book, maybe it's dog-eared, its jacket is a little torn, or even missing,
and the spine's a bit warped, like a true scoliositastic book should be. It's in the most unlikely of places, under the 13th edition printing of a well used history book,
at the bottom of the lost-and-forgottens,
when it hits you.

Your fingers sing along the traces of gold pateen left in the crooks of the title,
reveling in their familiarity. It's not that you remember it, or have even ever graced the cover with a glance, but you've found it. One of those books.
Your grandchildren are going to find it tucked under a floor board with a tin of needles and crayons...the square kind.

Breathe deeply, remember the heady smell of newly turned dirt, feel it under your nails
Look up, see the silver dollar moon and reflect it in your heart.
Whisper back when the breeze tells you a secret.
Please don't forget this.

We can't even make eye contact, who are we kidding? Must we keep meeting on these cold concrete benches? I just want to talk to you, just for a second. Stop running away.

Okay, listen, we do even have to talk! We could just sit, on seperate benches even.

Though, I do hate this quietness I've adopted near you. It's just, do you even care?
I feel overcome by your endless stream of words, your pinstriped nonsense!
But then you decide to come out, stark naked. I'm never sure what to say, your speech bests mine.
Could I just nod? Or move closer or something, I'm going mad here.

Sometimes my cheeks and tongue feel swollen, cause the words and thoughts are all clogged up,
it's almost a superball in there.
and it's like I could swallow my marshmallow tongue, but it's...well, hard to explain, for one.
But it won't go. I just sit here staring downwards, and it hurts.
Please understand, and please, please don't go. I feel like the strings are already cut,
and your face has looked sullen and determinedly blank lately. I love you, I worry about you.

All my words are turning into pictures again, but my pencils are turning into keyboards. It's pesky business.

It's strange, this skidded knee feeling. I like it, 'cause it means I fell, which means I must have been doing something worthwhile to get my knees all scraped up. It tickles and itches since it's healing, but still, something is amiss, like there's a line in my skin that wasn't there before.

Too bad Shiva didn't feel like donating a few of her arms to the needy artists, we'd be in business, let me tell you.

Could we sit for awhile, across from each other sometime? I'd like to trace the arc of your smile.

My fingers are clay sausages.

I think you're slipping.

Come 'ere. We're gonna be late!

Your shoes are untied, and your dress is unzipped, Livy. That's the third time you've taken out your pigtails. Let's try a braid this time. Oh no, you're not getting eyeshadow, you'll smudge it all off before five minutes have passed.

Stop biting your fingernails! Buckle your seat belt. Must you keep tapping your foot like that?

Finally, I think we made it just in time!
Livy, sit straight. Stop fidgeting, quit biting your lip, uncross your legs, look up ahead, smile once in a while, goodness, you're a lady, not a giraffe, quit craning your neck.

Ohhh, no. I've forgotten their gift. Oh, I'll just express mail it to them. It's not like they need a self warming fondue double boiler for their honeymoon activities. Unless they're Mormon, oh god, are they Mormon?

Tired of being alone? Tough shit, turns out it's life. You wake up one morning and feel like dying so you go back to sleep, try to shake it off. No good, so you get up and have some eggs on toast. That only jogs your memory with the dream you've been having. Some deathly depressing scenes about your family you hate, and the earlier theme of running away was no help. You only made everyone sad.

And I do so hate when everyone's sad. You know that cute smug smile that breaks across your freckled nose like sunshine or something else real nice on a sunny mosquito filled afternoon? I live for that. Which is funny, since it's why I'm curled up in my tummy now, cause that's missing. That happens so often. Then when there's a real nice scene on the telly and it gets happy again, and it's like spraying breath freshener in it, that same tingle and swoop. Then it goes away real quick again, when I turn to my left, giggling, and you're not there returning the feeling.

Just like how food's that much better when it's someone elses, all those moments are 15% of what they could have been, cause our laughter is such a mirror, bouncing the good times back and forth.

You won't ride bikes with me, or go to the park, or hold hands, and damn it if you're going to sit still long enough for me to get a good look at you and have you really look back and see me.

Sometimes I like to watch our feet
hit the ground at the same time, or hear the same phrase uttered, or share a sip of coke as a direct result of that. You never take it the same way, and sometimes that's okay, cause how else are we to keep any company around? Mostly though it just sucks. And I curl up in my belly again, and the moon hides for a real long time.