a jaded kind of beautiful

The moon always kind of belonged to us – or at least it used to.

I remember nights talking with you on the phone of all the littlest things and you’d get distracted by the moon and you’d coerce me into running outside with a smile on my face just to look at how beautiful it is. And I’d go back to you on the line and pretend not to have cared whatsoever, even though the truth is that I was amazed by it and how amazing you are to have noticed it at all.

Although you do have a propensity of noticing the most overlooked – no matter how wrecked or derelict – and jaded things.

At times, you would have whispered, “Please”, just to persuade me into trussing the curtains and looking at the moon from my window. I’d roll my eyes but I would not resist going outside just to feel the sand between my toes and spend the night ashore wondering at the crescent moon and how it hides its dark side on unexceptionally chosen times. And I’d ask if it could, in actuality, make that choice.

Then again, some things have to turn their faces sideways and hide their nightly illumined scars at least until morning comes.

Every night that we spent in each other’s presence was a night to notice the moon’s glory and every night that we spent apart was a night to think of how we still have the same moon no matter what happens. But we failed to notice how everyone always, always has that same moon despite not having anything else in common. That despite being strangers, there’s that lit orb in the sky that they will always, always see at once.

It got me thinking tonight.

Are we strangers now? Did we get so used to each other that we forget just how it feels to mind being with or without the other person again? Did I get a little too used to you that I never notice you not bringing up us and everything we have anymore? Did you get a little too used to me that you never bring up the moon and stars on any night anymore?

“Say something.” I’d whisper through the dark and you’d look at me with that sorry look in your eyes and you’d shake your head and I wouldn’t be able to stand it. “I’d rather have you hate me than pity me.” You’d smile at me wistfully and look down. “I can never hate you.” But that’s the problem, isn’t it? We can always just leave – but does the moon ever really disappear?

It comes back. It always, always does and that’s where we lose everything. It’s only ironic that we lose everything when we win each other again. But we come back. We always, always do.

I know at this moment we’re looking through the atmosphere with someone else’s shoulders leaning on ours – that another cold summer night is spent warmed by someone else’s arms, that we’re trying to move along life by moving on – but just tonight, can I persuade you to run outside, with a smile on your face, and just look at the moon? Just tonight, can I ask you to look at the moon and how beautiful it still is?

Please. Just tonight.