Lucky Luna (no.9)

old paper - rainy

I woke up that morning to the sound of wind gusts rising and falling, tossing leaves in their fury and bringing chills to my spine. Branches tapped on the walls and windows as I stared up through the skylights at the green storm of leaves waving above me. I laid there, on my back, taking in the dreary emotion of the weather outside. The morning was unusually cold for July, so I brought the covers up to my chin and moved closer to his sleeping body. It would have been romantic in a way, laying there next him on our make-shift bed out in the unfinished solarium, surrounded by windows displaying a gloomy world, glowing in hues of green and gray. But an anxious throb swelled inside of me and a cocktail of dread and exhaustion made my insides churn. How fitting, I thought, that the weather itself seemed so unsure and so unsettled. I got up slowly, as to not disturb his slumber, and walked shivering to the door that led inside. I headed upstairs to don a warmer outfit, the result being ripped jeans and old baggy sweater. Grabbing the phone, I headed downstairs and called her, asking if she still wanted to meet, one more time to say goodbye before I left. I had already promised I would, so unsurprisingly she said yes, meet her at 11 down by the reservoir. Numbly, I agreed, hardly knowing what to do next. Should I just go and perhaps I will be back before he wakes up? Or perhaps I could leave a note, saying I had taken Gracie for a walk down at the park; that would only by a partial lie. But my gut hurt so much at the idea of tricking him again, I eventually resigned to tell him where I was going and who would be there. I knew it would hurt him; I knew he would say no. But I this could be my last chance to see her, I thought, and I already promised I would go. The argument was long, heart-wrenching, worse than I could have imagined. His eyes were red with sadness and his face shadowed with pain. Back and forth my decision flopped as I watched him breaking apart again and as I felt myself torn in two. He would hate me if I went, and she would be crushed forever if I didn’t. He threatened to drink himself into oblivion, and the ever-constant flow of time threatened to make the decision for me, as 11 o’clock came and went. I can hardly say what happened next, but the door to the solarium slammed and I found myself walking teary-eyed and weary up my long driveway. The wind rustled my hair violently and as I reached the top, there she was, passing by my house in her old black Nissan, one last time before she gave up on me. As soon as our eyes might, her face melted with relief and he big sad eyes lit up. I apologized and explained without much depth my predicament, indicating I couldn’t stay long. We drove the three minutes down the winding road to the park, where the gray reservoir sat, its waters rippling in the wind. Gracie had come with us, and we ushered her across the road and found a picnic table by the water to sit at while Gracie sniffed the nearby dirt. We sat facing each other; she was wearing a green and purple summer dress that whipped around her legs in the blowing wind, while I sat with one leg on the seat, my knees poking through my old worn jeans. I could hardly appreciate the beauty of the moment, as she shook her head and whispered “Oh, Meg…” Half of me was still at home, wondering what he was doing, if he hated me, if he hoped I never came back. We sloppily expressed our mutual sadness that I was leaving for the Midwest soon, and how we hoped all would be better soon. She wondered aloud how things might have been different, could have been different, would be different, if we had just gotten our chance. Drops began to fall from above, and I mused at its befitting presence on this emotionally turbulent morning. The ever-quickening onset of rain persuaded us that it was time to say goodbye and end this forbidden rendezvous. We rushed across the street, her face alight with child-like happiness as she removed her black slippers and jumped into puddles, throwing her arms in the air with wild abandon. I watched with a smile as she twirled in the cold down-pour, my mind wrapping around the perfection of the moment. Eventually she fell into me, her hair dripping and her make-up running delicately down her cheek. She looked up at me, with joy shining through her usually dark, sad eyes. She pulled me in for a kiss, but guilt and sadness held me back; I took it with grace, as her warm mouth touched my rain-drenched lips. Was this really where I was meant to be? Did I make the right choice? And am I ready to say goodbye for good? Part of me believes I never should have gone, but the other half wishes that I had kissed her back.

murky

The water gets murkier every day. I hardly mind it though; it adds another superficial barrier between me and the world. Until it becomes opaque and I can hardly see my feet anymore, I can’t complain. The dusky waters hold my past, and the dirt is part of me, or at least was me at one point. Each particle holds a truth that I may have forgotten, if I were not living in it. The murkiness for now is a friend, a companion, a marker of time, though time seems to hold little value anymore. Each day is the same, here in my private mud bath. The slow course of nature’s travelling light across the room is banished by the harsh blue light from above. Most days it comes, so suddenly, flickering briefly before glaring flawlessly above me and illuminating my humble home.

My cage holds comfort with its unfaltering appearance. Only the water moves, and the pebbles shift only when I’m digging through them. Sometimes my humble rock wiggles with my movement, too. Though I suppose I am being gracious, calling it a rock, when really it floats unnaturally, like some futuristic plastic lily pad. Algae clings to it desperately, making it almost real. But I know better. There is a surreal calmness to my cage, altered only by my frantic, and fruitless, attempts to get out. Scratching at the walls, I search for a crack in the glass, a hole, a mistake, a sign – a way to escape.

I know she sees me struggle. I pace back and forth; a brief flare of energy consumes me. But all she sees is a hungry animal; cooing at me softly, she pours food for me. This fleeting moment connects us, and I wish I could say thank you. I wish I could say “Let me out!” Sometimes I try, but the bubble in my throat cracks and only a pathetic squawk emerges. She can hear me, but it means nothing. I hear her, too, each day. Sometimes she is talking to no one it seems; sometimes I know she must be talking to me. Sometimes she says hello to me – the flickering light glares on. Sometimes she says goodnight to me – the light suddenly disappears into darkness, into a void. But other days, I am quite forgotten it seems. Instead I take solace in her voice, however far away it seems. Floating over the sound of trickling water and penetrating the glass that separates us, her voice always finds me.

It’s low and quiet usually, with a certain resignation that the world has given up on her, or at least that she has given up on the world. It’s a murmur, a whisper, full of berated hope and an undeniable sadness. She speaks of change, she whimpers of fear, she gasps for something more. “What am I waiting for?” she muses aloud. I wonder, too, for each day I see her doing what she did yesterday, again and again and again. The monotony that is my life transcends upon her with greater force. She speaks of dullness, the kind that comes from staring too long – dullness that weakens one’s will slowly, dullness from repetition, and death from waiting too long.

“When did sleep stop working?” she asks the pillow. “And when will I wake up?” I want tell her the first step is the hardest one. I want to help, but I am too small. “I hear you!” I want to shout. But she’s forgotten me today; the blue light has left me and no food falls from the sky. I have no strength to fight my cage today, nor the will to ever leave. The water is so murky now; I can hardly see. Though she needs more, I am fine I know, and fine is good enough for me. 

A blossom in a flower garden may just seem like one of many - but is her vitality lessened? are her colors thusly muted? Or rather are her hues enhanced by a backdrop of others who will never grow as tall ~

Happy new year!

Well, the new year is upon us ~ and well, thank goodness! ‘Tis a perfect symbol of change that will hopefully manifest itself into a ‘starting point’ for this new beginning of mine ~ of the new me! What a year ~ hot damn. I don’t really even know what to say about it, where to start? Though, as much troubles as I have faced, I know that I am truly blessed and I thank the stars everyday for comforts I enjoy and the love that I know. I just hope I stop waiting and start living ~ I just hope that everyone I know receives all the happiness that they deserve ~ I just hope I can be the best that I can be, as corny as it sounds. So farewell 2009 - moving on from you will hopefully leave me with less weight to bear so that 2010 finds me strong and free~

“So you were born, and that was a good day. Someday you’ll die, and that’s a shame. But somewhere in the between, was a life of which we all dream, and nothing and no one can ever take that away”

Let you go ~ ATB

I’ve been to all the familiar places
I’ve been running like a sentence never begun
I’ve been looking for a way to let you know
I’ve got nothing left to fill the spaces
I’ve got nothing but a centre coming undone
I’ve been doing circles and it shows

I’ve been to all the familiar places
I’ve been running like a sentence never begun
I’ve been looking for a way to let you know
I’ve got nothing left to fill the spaces
I’ve got nothing but a centre coming undone
I’ve been doing circles and it shows

Every cloud in the sky
Every place that I hide
Tell me that I
I was wrong to let you go
Every sound that I hear
Every thought that I fear 
Tell me that I
I was wrong
I was wrong to let you go

meaning

(MD)

Overstep, overlook, overcome

the lines that bind you, that hold you back

you push on forward, though your odds are stacked

though your luck says no, and the world insists

to push you down ‘til you don’t exist

where to draw the line? I ask

for who’s to say, where one thing starts

and another dies away?

for if no lines are drawn, then none can be crossed

if nothing is real, then nothing is lost

though you should be the one in control

it’s good to see, and good to know

that all we can do is stand our ground

for in this life, I’ve learned, I’ve found

that time presses forward, that though there is no divine plan

our powers are few, our fates sit in the hands

of something greater, someone curious and unkind

who just like us is hoping to find

meaning in chaos, lines to map and draw

purposes, reasons, and fulfillment for us

all…