Archive 501
Vivian Galván García
I Lost The Moon
By Vivian Galván GarcíaAnd so the movie ended as the moon reached its apex and the soft glow made its way inside my window. Tangled in between the velvet sheets, me and the moon we enjoyed each other's presence.
You see, me and the moon, have an unconscious connection. We are the same soul split between two bodies. Dressed in its light I find solace. Dressed in its light I find release. The moon, my muse, my confidant.
That night, as the credits rolled by, I lost the moon.
I didn’t notice at first, it wasn’t all at once. It started like every other night, like a routine, the moon gathered its stars, its lips of light softly kissed my body, and left no evidence of its presence other than my soul bruised with love. The moon made its way out the door, slowly descending into the night, saying goodbye as it did every time sleep took over me.
I closed the curtains. I didn’t wait for the moon to disappear behind the buildings seeing it home safe before I closed the curtains. Now I think I should’ve held on tighter. I should’ve found a way to slow down time. I should’ve controlled the weather so the clouds wouldn't dim its light.
I waited for the moon the next night. I waited for its hands to reach inside my window. Play with my hair while sharing a conversation until sleep took over. I waited and nothing came.
Storm clouds painted the sky outside my window. Their blanket of rain fell upon the city. I called out to the moon until my face mirrored that of the crying night but the thunder silenced my pleads.
Days of foolish waiting turned into weeks, assuming the moon would return as it had in the past.
Nights became a fractured thing. My night sky bleeds through a gaping wound once stitched together by the moon. My world, stripped of its colors like an old faded photograph, taunts me with a memory I can no longer hold onto.
Was I selfish to believe that the moon existed just for me? Now even the stars seem indifferent to my cries, their cold stare offering no solace.
Every corner of this city whispers the moon’s name. The scent of the night acts as a phantom touch sending shivers down my spine. Its absence haunts me, making me believe its presence is always near but I can never reach for it. And so I search everywhere. I look for its reflection on every ripple of water, every restaurant window, every place where we used to share our intimate conversations. I find nothing. Nothing but pale imitations, a mockery of what once was mine and is now lost.
I wish to have waited for its descent into the city skyline on our last night. To have burned in the reflection of its glow for a few seconds longer. To have kept the curtains open.