Past Lives Flicker Through My Mind, As I Stand Gazing Up At The Moon. The Night's Pretty Much Silent,

Love is so strange.

It's different for different people.

And it's different during different seasons.

It was a summer afternoon in May,

when I loved someone for the very first time.

I felt like somebody had sprinkled fairy dust inside me.

It felt all tingly and sparkly and good in every way.

Then autumn came and it was September,

when you said you loved me for the first time.

I knew what butterflies felt like in my tummy.

A beautiful cool sensation, jittery yet so magical.

But soon after, winter visited as well.

I was left alone on the park bench,

in the midst of December,

while you held her hand and walked away.

The fairy dust of the summer,

started choking me up.

I ran home and closed the bathroom door.

And ended up puking all over.

I guess those were the butterflies I felt in Autumn,

now all dead and garbage.

As I waited for the winter to pass,

I dreaded the arrival of summer.

I didn't want no more fairy dust and butterflies.

All I wanted was to be me again.

To stop feeling dead and grey all the time.

It was February suddenly,

and I was walking to my favourite coffee shop.

I hadn't been there in a while,

and I missed it like anything.

Half way through my favourite book,

you stumbled upon me and fell.

We smiled and apologized,

and I extended my hand out to you.

It was when you grabbed my outstretched hand,

that I suddenly remembered spring existed as well.

© Moonyloonywitch

10/08/2021

I don't really know how to say this, but here goes. All I want in a medical/hospital type of drama show is for one (1) woman to choose herself over her unborn baby, just once.

Out of the maybe hundreds or more pregnant women we see in these shows, who come in after being in an accident or suffering from an illness or some sort of complication or I don't know what, I just want a single solitary woman who, when faced with the choice of risking or maybe even ending her life for the sake of getting the pregnancy to term or terminating the pregnancy to save herself, will choose the second option.

I know. I know how important carrying a child can be, how hard some need to work just to get pregnant, how hopeful and happy it makes them, how important it is and how devastatingly painful and crushing it can be to lose it. But this constant emphasis on self sacrifice for the sake of unborn children, the very obsession with the idea of birth, with a woman's "purpose" to give birth, of the implications and hinting that creating a family can or should only be achieved through pregnancy - it's A Problem.

I just want to see one woman. Just one. One woman who is sad and heartbroken at her diagnosis, but makes it clear she wants to live. She wants to survive, even if her baby won't. That if there is a choice to make, she is the more important one. She should be the one they save. Just one woman, who, when faced with the possibility of never being able to have another child, says "well that's a shame. But I always wanted to adopt anyway so I guess I'll start sooner than I thought". One woman who is okay with never having a baby, because while it was a happy occasion, it's not the only good thing in her life and not the only way for her to define herself. One woman who is more excited at the prospect of being a full-time aunt, because she already has all the children she could ever want, even if they are not "hers". Maybe even one, just one woman, who blatantly and with no regret says "you know what? It's not important enough for me to die for. Thanks but I want to live".

I just want one.

There's a pool of sadness in my being.

And sometimes I can hear it sing.

An eerie voice lingering long after it ends.

Accompanied by ghostly visions of the past.

Sometimes it sings at dawn.

And sometimes it sings when I am asleep.

But always, always, it sings only when I am alone.

The constant hum has a blue softness.

Almost like the way my smile looks on my tired days.

But on rare days the hum becomes a vibrant violet.

And feels like the shade of the magic in my eyes.

The songs are about the things I hold in my heart.

Like the stories of my childhood times,

and the places where I left pieces of who I am.

But on nights when I can no longer fall asleep,

the songs take on a familiar tune.

They become the whispers of the restless sea,

and the slow crackling of the campfire on the shore.

It brings back the smell of the waves,

the vibrations of their crashing spreading through my bones.

For a brief moment, I become a child again.

Free to laugh and smile,

and free to sleep without the usual accompaniment of nightmares.

Even though all of this is in my head,

simply the long gone moments from my past,

the ghostly visions are what keeps me sane.

Reminding me that not always will life be so blue.

And that blue is not always so sad.

Knowing this, the pool of sadness sings on and on.

The humming taking on a sweeter tone.

© Moonyloonywitch

You just walked away like that.

And took all of my words with you.

I am left with an empty pen,

and an even emptier heart.

Where do I go from here?

Back to the misery that I came from,

or the uncertain darkness that lay ahead.

Maybe I'll rest here for a while.

Under the fading glow of the moon,

with the silence of the sky to keep me company.

It's not that I can't move on.

I just want to linger here a little more,

to trace my fingers through the blurring outlines of our fates.

Let the dying sun go in peace.

And soon enough I'll be gone from your name too.

Till then say yes to the whsipers I've sent with the wind.

Tell me that it was a good story.

And that you loved me once.

It hurts to see you like this.

All broken and drowning.

Souless eyes staring into oblivion.

I know you've been heartbroken.

And I know you feel like dying.

But I hope you know that I care.

I care so much that your pain is starting to feel like my own.

And I am scared that I'll end up like you too.

But while I am beside you in your sad story,

I don't think you'll be there for me in mine.

I don't know what to do now.

Maybe just for a while till you heal,

I'll hold your hand and pretend I don't love you.

Denial has never been my thing.

But now I need it to live.

So here I am denying the love I feel for you,

so that I can share the pain you are in because of him.

Love has many definitions,

and for me it is being with you while you love another.

© Moonyloonywitch

06/08/2021

Like phases of the moon, I change the way I see the world. Sometimes it's too much yellow, all bright and beautiful and like the scenes from a ballroom.

And sometimes it's a tired white. With no life left in me to fight. I can feel the sighs of the earth. We share our tears, and I feel safe in her arms.

Every now and then it's green. Fresh and alive, looking like a newly bloomed daffodil. It brings back memories of past summers. A carefree world with a golden undertone.

I also see red sometimes. Like the scream of a banshee and the pain in their eyes. It reminds me of my first heartbreak. Drunk and hurting with heavy eyes, but a heavier heart.

But today all I see is grey. Like the monotonous susurration of the rain, it's killing me slowly, burying me alive. Seeping into me like I am a sponge.

This is why I hate gloomy rainy days.

It feels like I am half dead, but half alive.

I don't know where to belong.

....................................................................................................

The sky keeps pouring outside.

But all that my eyes see are worlds within each drop.

Each one looks so transparent and fragile.

And as they race each other against my window,

I silently cheer for the one that's slow.

Because I know how it feels to be last.

And because I know there's still a chance.

Who knows, maybe when the night becomes alight,

I'll stop seeing the world in blue.

Maybe when the stars come out and paint the sky,

the colours in my head will mix and blend.

And when they do so, I'll wait by the seashore.

Brush in my hand and music on my lips.

Holding my breath, in the fading sunlight.

Susurrations of my heart grows louder,

as I watch the sky being adorned in a soft pink.

© Moonyloonywitch

Stop running and turn around.

I am still here, standing in the dark.

With outstretched hands waiting to hold you.

Come to me and please stay this time.

We found each other after a million sad stories.

Each one more heartbreaking than the last.

So come back and I promise I'll hold you.

Sleepless nights have been my friends for a while now.

But with you by my side, the world comes alive.

My heart is stronger this time.

Let me take away your pain and mourn for your loss.

Close your eyes and walk back to me.

For so long your were lost among the starless skies.

But now even the darkness is tired of keeping us apart.

I've littered stars to guide you back home.

Follow the fading lights and by dawn you'll be safe in my arms.

It's time for our forever, my love.

With a tired sigh, you tell me that life has become pointless now and that you've forgotten how it felt to be alive. You tell me you don't know where to find the next chapter of this monotonous life of yours.

I hope you find it in between your favourite book, with pages folded that remind you of how beautiful life sometimes can be.

I hope you find it the way the flowers in your homemade pots bloom late in the afternoon, spreading a faint fragrance that people will soon come to associate you with.

I hope you find it in the sweetness of the tea that you have in the mornings, just before you walk out to meet your best friend.

I hope you find it in the warmth of your blankets at night, when the moon filters in through the open window and falls on the suncatcher beside your table.

I hope you find it in the familiar tunes of your childhood songs that always adds a little bit of yellow to your eyes.

I hope you find it in the swift winds of the early winter mornings, where the steam from your cup fogs up your glasess as you sit across and smile at the little boy who claims he is Peter Pan.

I hope you find your next chapter in all the tiny nooks and corners of the world that hides the most beautiful moments that this life can come up with.

You know where to look. But you've been looking with your heart closed.

It's always the sun in someone's eyes that attracts the night in their hearts

We are all someone's hero if not our own.

I asked......

Would you consider yourself, a hero?

Everybody is put here for a reason. Some of us are put here for others to look at and be the example of what not to do. Some put here for them to aspire to. Be the reason another person succeeds. Someone you want to be like. Maybe a hero, maybe a mentor. It's up to us to follow, or be, whichever one we choose.

Would you read your own story?

Or maybe, a question within your story.

The story of your life.

Would you read that story? Would you read the ending? What if the story told everything? Past, present, and future. What if?

What if your story told of every adventure you’ve ever had? If the story told of your heartbreaks and loves? If that story was the truth? And told as only the truth could read? Not like you’d like to remember at times.

If the story told about the highest highs, and the lowest lows? The times that you nearly gave up, and the times you owned the world? Your world.

If the story looked ahead to things not known to you yet? The events and people that will shape your destiny? New people. New hopes, and new tears. New love. The chance to live a long life, or a death that is as sudden as an eye blink.

Would you read that story?

Would it read like you would want?

Would you be the hero of your own story? Righting past wrongs. Living a full life. Or, would you waste the very ink it was written with? A story not worth telling.

Maybe, that is your question. Maybe you should ask yourself that very thing before your story is written.

A question within a story.

The story of your life.

And I asked this, because her story is still unfolding.

It could be considered a tragedy, be she herself wrote out that part.

So, when I asked her, “do you consider yourself a hero”, her answer was simply,

“I don’t know. Maybe some people see me that way. But I think we all rise above situations in life and we can all be hero’s.”

Be someones hero.