I saw Her in the Moon, felt Her in the stars. As night fell each evening, a smothering cocoon of darkness pulling me beneath its obsidian comforts, I took a deep breath and dived into immortality. Every night the same. Every night unwanted.
The bane of forever weighed heavy on my heart. I sought death with the same determination as a seed the light, courted it even. Courage, however, was a trait I lacked, and although a smiling blade would have returned me there, another’s, or my own, the trickle of life running through me refused to succumb. Pathetic, I know, but the truth.
Fate was a fickle mistress. One moment she taunted, next, cheered, leaving the fated to surf her undulating waves alone. My fate began the day She turned me. Only She could ever take that fate away.
I stood on the cliff overlooking the ocean as I was wont to do. The undulating Atlantic soothed my soul, so to speak, and eased my torrid thoughts. I often imagined my lover in those unblemished vistas: Her skin, the polished waters; Her smile, the changeable horizon; Her eyes, the moon and its reflection. A step would have ended my pain. Even I could not have survived the plummet. She knew it. She wanted it.
Her voice came as a midwinter whisper, a tickled goodbye in my ear. I turned, stumbled, fell.
There was no pain, no hurt, no kiss of jagged rocks on ancient flesh, only an impaled farewell.
I died with a smile on my face and Her laughter written across my soul. I didn’t care; it’s what I wanted. It’s what She wanted too, but for different reasons.
An abundance of daylight stole our nights. Fireside flickerings fell away like fireflies in the sun. The glimmering moon became less than a luxurious, ocean pearl and more of an ofttimes limpet attached to the sky. The evenings were less subtle for its diminishment. Summertime madness had spread too much for my liking, the sun so unwilling to set had outstayed its welcome. I missed our lost November evenings like I did our love with not a corner of darkness in which to crawl. I prayed for our ebony nights to return. Your return, too.
Author’s Note: I don’t know why, but I had a sudden urge to write something dramatic.
The tide rose in my wake determined to wipe me from the granite I clung to; it could not dislodge me. Fingers like limpets pressed to the rock as I scrambled, clambered and crawled. The clear air made fire of a throat used to the liquid nectar of a saline sea, yet still I fought my way towards storm-riddled skies.
To look down upon that which I’d always looked up to played tricks on my tired mind. I felt I might reach across the distance between us, touch your shoulder, stroke your hair, feel the curves of your wetted body pressed to my own. You were perfect, you see, an air breathing angel huddled against the squall. And for one sick moment, I thought to tip you into my domain, dislodge you from your little, brown boat; what a monster the ocean had made of me. Of course, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
And there, as I spied upon she who’d spied down on me, I forgot where I belonged, forgot what I was, forgot time and its consequences. I lingered in gasping breaths until I gasped no more. It was worth the pain to see you whole and to imagine what our life might have been.
When I lost my lungs, night descended. When I lost my grip, I fell. You may have heard the splash, but you’d never have known it me.
I loved her with a passion that burnt through my body to singe the earth beneath my feet. Every thought of every day belonged to her, every moonbeam bore her features, every sunburst was her eyes. I lived for her, breathed for her, would’ve died for her, and then done so again. She was my beloved.
She eyed me with a mysterious mix of revulsion and curiosity. I might have been something she’d stood in, or an old blouse given to charity then spied on another woman who’d accessorised it with patches in the image of my face. She turned away because she couldn’t bear to look, not for her sake, but my own. Pity, I think? She pitied me. I was pitiful.
I trailed her with eyes upturned; her perfumed perfection provided a trail. Life wouldn’t allow me to part from her. Life, that’s a joke, I had no life without my beloved. To turn away was to fall into hell with a boulder strapped to my back and lead-lined shoes. Torture some might have called it, and they would’ve been right. Having a beloved who wouldn’t be loved. Could you imagine anything worse? I couldn’t. That’s why I ended it in one foul sweep of an over-sharpened blade. Ended it for us both.
I loved her with a passion that tore at my soul. Whenever I imagined those deep, hazel eyes it felt like my skin had snagged on a briar and wouldn’t let go. To have torn at it would have meant tearing at me and I’d already lost too much of myself. I shredded by the day, my blood like paint splattering the walls.
That’s why when the letterbox flapped open like a gaping fish and a small, white envelope soaked in her unmistakable perfume dropped to the floor, I opened it in a flash. My eyes shot past the actual words to the return address, hope emblazoned in my eyes, on my heart, in my dreams. Undisclosed, it read. The briars dug deep.