Full Moon

It's a full moon tonight. I used to not notice the moon. But, that was before...well, before I met him, the man who changed everything. I used to only look at the moon…well, I don't really remember ever looking at the moon. Maybe in Astronomy class. But other than that? Never.

And now, I feel like I can't tear my eyes away from it. Has it really always been there? Have I really never noticed it before, in all of its sickening splendor and nauseating beauty? No, I haven't. But now…now it hangs in the night sky like a talisman, watching me and mocking me, and seeming to taunt, "You can't stop looking at me, can you?"

I can't. I can't stop looking at it. I stare and I gaze and I watch, and it knows what I'm doing. Because now, it never used to, but now it does, it stares back at me. So we stare at each other. I don't dare to blink. I don't dare to back down.

They are not nice things, our staring contests. It's not a happy occurrence, because every month, without fail, the full moon steals something from me. It steals the most precious of my belongings. And for one night, the moon keeps him. And I cringe and I scream and I cry and I pray, but nothing I do will ever persuade the moon from taking him. The moon, it knows that I want him, but it keeps him all the same. And as I stare, it seems to smile at me, a jealous and possessive smile that makes me want to break something, "You want him back don't you?"

And I do want him back. I want him back more than I can ever say. Without him, I am a shell of a woman, staring endlessly up at the moon. But I will never get him. Never. Because the moon wants him too.

So it's not only a staring contest, it's a tug-of-war as well. I pull with all my strength, proving that I want him. But the moon pulls back. And the moon is stronger than I am. But I hold my own. I fight for him. I stand my ground. But the moon smiles that well-rehearsed all-knowing smile, and it whispers in my ear, "Why do you want him anyway?"

And the truth is I don't know why I want him. I just do. I tell myself I shouldn't. And he tells me that I shouldn't. But I just do. And that's all I know. But it's enough. It's enough for me to fight for him and it's enough for me to get him back. And I always get him back. But not without a laugh from that eerily glowing orb hanging over my head in the night sky. The moon laughs at me. The King of the Heavens and its twinkling, winking subjects, they laugh. They laugh at us. But I endure the laughs, because I know that if I do, I will win.

The moon always gives him back to me. Mangled, and scarred, it's true. But I always get him back. And I don't care if he's bleeding or if he's broken, as long as he's back. But the moon is shrewd, and the moon knows what I want. And it threatens me. Because every time I gaze at the full moon, I never do know if I will get him back alive. The thought alone sends shivers up my spine. But I must think it, despite how much I don't want to, because it is a real possibility.

And I know that he goes unwillingly, and I know that he doesn't want to leave me, and I know that he may not come back. But every time he goes, it's like the first time all over again. I feel like he is abandoning me. I feel like he doesn't want me. But I tell myself he does. And I know that he does. But that doesn't stop the uncertainty, and the waiting and the crying and the staring, and all of it happening all over again. I can't stop it. And he can't stop it. So we just endure it together, separately. Because I don't know the half of it, and because he doesn't know the half of it, we suffer together, but separately. The moon separates us. And the full moon watches us as we live through its curse. And sometimes it says, "You don't have much longer."

And as much as I hate to admit it, the moon is right. Because there is always a chance.

There are times when I forget about the moon, but not really. When I'm asleep with him next to me, or when we're just together, doing nothing at all, I'll try to forget. But it's always in the back of my mind, taunting and teasing and looming ever closer. I wonder if he feels the same way. I know he does. I wonder if the moon taunts him too. I know it does. But what does it say to him? I can only imagine.

It may ask him, "Why do you love her, when you are a monster, and she is a woman so young and whole and full of life?"

And I know his answer, because he has confessed it to me. He says that he does not know. He loves me. He just does. There's no explanation. There's no cure. And because he can't let go, he must hold on. If there is no one that wants him but the moon, he becomes its lover, and not mine. But I will not surrender him to the moon. I refuse. I cannot let go, so I simply hold on. Both of our lives seem to hang precariously together by a spinning, thinning thread, and the moon holds the spool. They are always so close to falling. And the moon smiles when I cry. But I hold on, his hand grasped in mine, because I don't know any other way.

The moon may threaten, "I will kill you tonight."

And then what does he do? What does he say? I do not know. But I do know that I will always be waiting for him. And he knows this as well. So he fights, like I fight, we fight together, separately. I fight for him, and he fights for me. And we win. We will always win. But there is always that unspeakable chance.

I hear a howl in the distance. It is a cry of pain and of love and of endurance. It gives me a strange sense of hope, knowing that he feels the same, and that we suffer together, separately. And with this cry, we challenge the moon. We challenge its authority and its power. The full moon will never break us. It may try. But it will fail. We will become stronger. It may try again. But we will fight together, separately. And we will triumph like we always do, with scars on our hearts, and scars on our bodies, but the same love in our veins. We will always love together, never separately, always together.