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I woke up to the sound of his heartbeats.

It's a slow rhythm, one that comforts me in this darkness.

With only the light of the fake phosphor stars,

I can see his pale, beautiful face.

He's asleep, but very much alive.

At least for now.

At least for a few hours,

I'll still be able to embrace the warmth that's him.

Until the fuel runs out and we are doomed forever,

I can hug him and listen to his soft breaths.

There's a strange beauty to our current situation.

We're literally lost among the stars.

Held by the other, breathing the same air,

we float amidst the lights in the vast empty darkness,

miles away from the place we once called home.

Because now, nothing else exists to me except him.

Now, all that's real are his arms around my body.

Entwined together, our fingers are the last remnants of life.

And as I drift away into sleep once more,

I press my lips to his shoulder.

A final goodbye,

and then we're gone,

together.

Two hearts lost in space, and in each other,

till the end of time, perhaps.

As hard it is to face, I know the love we shared don’t come around often. So losing that feels unbearable. The thought of having to search for love in another person seems pointless. Because no one will ever be you. No one is like you. Maybe that is for the best. But I will bring all the things you taught me and all the parts of you I kept into loving the next. But I will forever be yours

Honestly I don't know.

But maybe I love them because they feel like a part of me.

Like I am a puzzle and the pieces are scattered all over this world. As songs and paintings and poetry and plants. And like stars and moon and oceans and trees.

The things I love are the reflections of my soul.

Everything I've ever loved reminds me of who I once was or who I am. I love them because they feel like home. Like they are made of the same things that I was made from.

I love them simply because they make me, me.

Why do you love what you love?

Tired is not even enough to describe the way I feel now. There's emptiness, vastness of it inside me. Yet there's no room to breathe.

No space where my soul can rest and do a little stretch.

Years of existence has piled upon me and now there's hardly any room....for myself.

Days have turned to weeks and weeks to months.

The sparkle of life has quietened down and all that's left is a stubborn heart shaped hollow.

Once filled to the brim with hopes and dreams, now it lays stuck in the sand and long forgotten.

A fossil from the days when the sun used to be kind and the wind was fresh. When I used to be me.

Now? Now it's all a hallucination... Something I feel I used to have but not really...

Stars have aligned.

And so have hearts.

Now when the sun sets in the horizon,

up comes the night.

Wild and beautiful,

with a mad sense of time.

As the world sleeps on,

souls meet at last.

Finally they've found eachother.

After eons of being nomads.

Stars have aligned.

And so have worlds.

Now when the moon shines in the sky,

down goes the light.

Sparkling and raging,

with a fierce sense of longing.

As the world stops to spin,

they hold hands at last.

© Moonyloonywitch

07/09/2021

The things we leave behind,

always seems like a lost battle.

Because of we could,

we'd lug them along.

But that's not how this works.

We are meant live within these lines,

cross no more and no white space.

Why do they call it life,

when it resembles the very thing that hells are made of?

It seems as if there's anything but hope in here.

Tired sighs and worn out souls.

All the corners taken up by the lost ones.

We were meant to be free and happy and be at peace.

But look at us, look at us withering away to charred remains.

Why is it so wrong to smile when we feel like it.

And why does everything always have to be done,

like they were done before us, for centuries.

We are not ghosts of the past,

but the pioneers of a better future.

Yet here we are, burned and hunted down,

all because we won't fit the box.

With every bone that breaks, the lines expand.

But how many more lives shall be lost,

before we can breathe again.

This cursed system has been going on for so long,

that now all the dreams we had have become mere passing fancies.

We can't afford to pay the price for choosing to have them,

when we ourselves have been so out of focus,

and so so close to an unattainable end.

Are we real, or are we too,the remnants of some far fetched dreams?

Out of focus, out of focus,

We've been anything but alive.

Because the world does not know how slow it has become,

and how far we are from the light.

Thus we shall remain out of focus,

till the last bone breaks,

and there's no one left to fit into the box.

The yellow letter sits on my table.

Edges worn and writing faded.

A faint scent of sandalwood and lavender,

is all that lingers where your hands once roamed.

I've kept it close to me all these years.

In hopes you'll write one again.

But that's all it has been.

Hopes that seemed hopeless to begin with.

I cannot bring myself to crumple it.

Or tear it into small bits.

Deep down I am scared.

Your words have become a second breath to me.

Almost as if I'll die if I stop thinking about them.

We never said goodbye.

But you did say you were bored of this love.

Maybe it's time I threw it away.

The tiny piece of paper that held me a prisoner all these years.

Time for a fresh new me.

One where I don't give up my heart to random strangers.

With a racing heart and a head full of doubts,

I take up the paper and read it again.

For the last time,

I remember your face.

I remember how much in love I was.

And for a final time,

I trace my fingers over your words.

With love, you say,

but it's been dead for a while now.

And now, I think I'll bury it.

But the doorbell rings and I sigh.

The man seems amused by my tears.

He hands me the box all the same,

and then walk away with a good day.

I open the box and there you are.

Smiling from the past like you're still here.

Another piece of paper fall into my lap.

Your words stare at me again.

Fresh scents of sandalwood and lavender fills me.

With love, you say again.

I almost laugh out but then catch myself.

It's wrong to laugh at the dead.

But I still smile, happy.

I held onto you for so long.

And finally when I began to let you go,

you've just gone on.

Maybe what kept you alive for so long was me.

Afterall how could death drag you down,

when I whispered your name to the passing wind,

and wrote it in sand over and over again.

Maybe that's why certain love are born.

To keep the other alive and breathing.

And with every breath I take now,

I remind myself there's someone for me too.

© Moonyloonywitch

01/09/2021

It seems like my heart only understands what you speak, even if you speak with an absence of words.

~

m.l.w

It doesn't matter if I try or not.

I'll end up in the sky a star.

But what matters is if you'll be there or not.

Beside me, glowing like the sun you are.

All that ever matters is you.

And if I wake up a star and not find you beside me,

know that I'll die over and over again.

A black hole forming at every attempt.

And until I find you I'll keep exploding.

Till I know the warmth on my face is your light.

Maybe that's how galaxies are formed.

Each one an attempt at a love story.

And thus the universe keeps on expanding.

How can it not?

When there are millions of us still searching for love.

© Moonyloonywitch

01/09/2021

Golden mornings and cool sea breezes brought them together.

Playful touches turned to yearnings with depth.

Days passed and love grew.

Until one day a shadow came uninvited.

Soon enough hell broke loose.

Still they managed to find their homes in the arms of the other.

But fate is bitter and sour and cruel.

It took away the black haired boy from his lover.

And left the other to grieve forever.

But what no one saw was the rage deep in the blues.

While the golden haired burned the world alive,

fate watched in the corner scared and small.

When the Trojans took away his home, his love, what could Achilles do except grieve for Patroclus.

And his grief brought the mighty warriors to their knees.

Troy did not not lose the war. Nor did the Greek win it.

Achilles grieved for Patroclus, and soon enough the war ended.