The moonlight, I found out years ago, accentuates your beauty.
Once, we stood under its waxing glow back when we were adolescents who were forced to grow up faster than we should have been. My back was sturdy enough to carry just enough belongings as well as hundreds of ghosts from my past, my hands were balled up in the hopes of keeping my guilt well-hidden in my pockets, and my eyes I struggled to keep forward where I thought there would be answers and some semblance of salvation.
Behind me, I heard your voice laced with an emotion I recognized to be one I believed I had bottled up nights after I had lost everything years prior. It was dangerous; it had the power to push you forward but also had the power to hold you back. It was fragile- something you had to work hard to protect so that you could keep it for longer. It was something I had to convince myself I could not afford anymore.
You saw me walk past you, walk towards the road that I believed lead to power, and yet, you asked me why I never opened up to you. You heard me tell you I did not need your help and yet, you reminded me of stories about what little time we had spent together. You reminded me that there is no happiness in revenge and I reminded you about my being different from the rest, but you proceeded to tell me about pain and loneliness and being without me. I did not dare look at you then, even when my eyes narrowed with some semblance of remembrance of cheerfulness. You listened to me as I started saying my good bye and yet, you told me about you, your heart, and your love. I could not look at you then because I was frozen in place as I listened to you talk about having no regrets, happiness, offering help, and offering yourself- things that, after you had talked about you, your heart, and your love, you made seem less than what they really were. I asked myself if I would be happy if I had those three things, if I accepted them from you.
Underneath it all, you were telling me I was making a mistake. You were telling me that one mistake could lead to one other and then another until there would be so many that I would lose count and then, by then, so little would matter. You have seen the bag on my back and yet, you were asking me to stay. I could not bring myself to look at you then because no one should ever have had to make you cry and yet, you stood behind me with tears falling and no signs of stopping. Underneath it all, you were telling me what I stood to lose and even though I was blind then, underneath it all, you were telling me I could lose myself- for that reminder, for that thought, for your care, I was thankful.
When I laid you down on that bench, I sat down beside you and held your hand for a time longer than I would ever admit. I wiped your tears away from your cheeks and hoped I could never forget the differences between their curves when you are smiling, frowning, laughing, pouting, or seething with anger. I kissed your closed eyelids with the hope that in your sleep, your memories of me would never become a nightmare. I brushed your hair away from your forehead and looked intently at your face as I hoped that I could never forget all the reasons why I have thought you were the most beautiful girl I have ever seen- apart from my mother.
Once, while travelling with people whose abilities I needed for a self-serving mission, we stopped for rest by a small lake surrounded by trees that bloomed to signify spring. It was early evening, the sky was a dark blue that just quite touched the edges of black, the stars were not too numerous but still afire, and the wind was lazily blowing through the spaces in between delicate petals that show themselves only during months of rebirth. Looking at the reflections of stars out of my reach, I chose to rest on the ground beside the lake while I was surrounded by fallen petals that reminded me of a delicate girl and her delicate heart. Feeling the fallen petals on my fingertips, their softness could never quite compare to your skin's. You were not there; how do I tell you I miss you?
Once, while I was spending my days and nights in a cold and quiet apartment, you took time and effort to visit me one night. My body was still weary from fighting a war that had one too many casualties, never should have happened in the first place, and never should have scarred any of us. My eyes hurt from a kind of pain that transcends physicality, my lost arm ached in places that did not exist anymore, my chest constricted constantly from regrets of the past and promises of a better future, and my head throbbed from precise memories that kept me awake, that I could only keep treasured and somehow alive. All of that, but when I opened the door for you that night you surprisingly came over, every single pain seemed to lull a little.
There was an apology that came from you, about how it must have been rude to interrupt my sleep or how it must have been better if you had come announced at a more acceptable time, but it was background noise at that moment. You told me you just wanted to check on how I was doing and that you brought tea, so I stepped aside to let you in and led you to the tiny balcony adjacent to the living room. You started serving the tea as soon as we sat down and you asked me how I was.
I could not tell you that I did not know how to properly manage the pains I had. I could not tell you that I did not know how to sleep at night. I could not tell you that I was grateful for everything that you had to endure for my sake. I could not bring myself to tell you so many things, so I looked away from your eyes and told you that I am doing fine instead. You looked at me like you did not believe me but you nodded. You knew that I would talk when I was ready. So I thanked you for the tea and you smiled and relaxed into the back of the chair and proceeded to talk about the work you did at the hospital. I brought the cup of tea to my lips as you talked and I looked at you.
Dark circles around your eyes told me that you did not sleep as much as you should have been. The furrow of your eyebrows told me that things were not running as well as they should have been. The weariness in your eyes told me that you had so much work to do, that you had too many responsibilities put on your shoulders so soon after the war. The slouch of your back told me so, too. The slight tremors in the movement of your hands told me that you used them too much, that you helped so many people, that you strived to exceed people's expectations of you. The constant mumbling from your mouth- talking about difficult patients, dying patients, lazy staff, being understaffed, inventories, lack of bathroom breaks, preparing to pitch an idea for a new kind of hospital that would focus on trauma patients- all of it told me that, despite, you were doing what you were meant to be doing, that you would be able to help so many more, that that was where you could finally shine.
Back when we were younger, whenever I told you that you should focus on training harder instead of channeling your energy into getting me to notice you, what I had in mind was the version of you in front of me that night. You were exhausted, yes, but you were also accomplished beyond expectations, independent and depended on, strong beyond measure, and respected and adored by people from in and outside the village. It would be hard to admit it, but if you ask me about it then I would tell you that I regret all of the times I could not see you when I wanted to. As I stared at you then, sipping lukewarm tea, basking in the faint light of a waning moon, I wondered so many times about how to tell you I have always seen you.
Once, in the middle of a vast sea of wildflowers under the endless expanse of night sky, I have finally understood then what it was like to hold in the spaces between my fingers the enduring love of the strongest girl I have ever known. We laid side by side, resting after a whole day of travelling. I looked at you then and your eyes were closed, your nose turned upwards, and your hair dancing to the sway of the breeze. I shifted and put my weight on top of you, careful not to crush you as I spread your legs apart. Your eyes shot open and your eyebrows rose at the suddenness and I looked into your eyes, glassy and clear. I brushed your hair and traced the arch of your nose with the tip of my own as you hummed and closed your eyes again, putting your arms around me and resting your palms on my back, rubbing it lightly like how you have learned I liked. We were free then: free to go where we liked, free to do what we wanted, free to be as we pleased. I freely admitted to myself I belonged with you, just you. You looked so peaceful. You looked how I felt.
The moon was full that night- bright, beautiful, and giving- and I could almost see it then: one day, when we settle down back in the village and grow our own family, I think I would like a window by our bed, if only to see the moonlight streaming in and illuminating your beauty. I would like to see the silver caressing your porcelain skin, making you glow even more, making you shine at night- almost like a beacon in the dark. It seemed fitting, just so: how you have always been there with me before I started to spiral down, how you have always been a gentle hum in the back of my mind when I was letting the darkness consume me, how you tried again and again to pull me from the dark I lived in for far too long.
"Angel," I whispered, and you hummed your recognition. Too bad you didn't open your eyes then; you would have seen the smile I had.
"Marry me," I asked. Let me be yours, I had thought. Then you opened your eyes and they looked so soft while slowly brimming with tears; a gentle curve slowly parted your lips and never before had I seen an answer so clear in someone's smile.
We had passed by numerous rivers in our travels, but one night well into summer when the heat was particularly stifling, suddenly, the cool water of the river looked even more inviting. You glanced at me with a raised eyebrow, an unspoken question, and a giggle before going to the riverbank and removing your clothes one by one. You were already in the water by the time I reached the edge of the bank. When I finally jumped in to join you, I could not help but stare. Your hair was wet and slicked back, water droplets littered your face and shoulders, and the moon's shine enveloped you. I grabbed one of your wrists and pulled you closer, wrapped my arm around your chest as you wrapped your legs around my waist. I started kissing your shoulders lightly, inch by inch, making my way up to your neck, and a small laugh escaped your lips.
"Darling," you cooed, "Here? Are you sure?"
I could not answer you even if I had wanted to; I was too lost in you.
I remember that one wedding we were invited to, in a small village we passed through. You saw some children suffering from the same kind of breathing problems and you asked that we stay with them for a while, just until you treat them and they get better. It took you a couple of weeks to stop the spread of what you deemed an infection passed from one child to another. In their gratitude, they asked us to stay a few days more so we could celebrate with them the wedding of the village chief's son and his childhood-friend-turned-lover. I had to hold both of your arms as you squealed in excitement for the better part of an hour. I guessed that the familiarity of the premise was not lost to me, neither.
The celebration was not grand, just the people helping each other in setting up the venue, cooking the food, and making the necessary arrangements. The couple were young; eighteen and apparently have been in love with each other ever since they were both too young to understand what being in love meant. We watched the ceremony from the side of the crowd, the setting sun in the background, painting the sky with a mixture of orange, pink, and lavender that you have always called pretty; as they kissed, I wrapped my arms around your waist, your back to my chest.
"I love you," I said, and you peeked up at me. I held you closer then; you have always been so generous with it. I kissed your hair and inhaled your scent. I knew you loved me. I have always known. If the circumstances were so different from what they were, you would have known that I have always felt the same way too. You blushed and smiled as a reply, and I let your waist go in favor of your hand as we walked towards the reception area.
A large patch of grass surrounded by tiny lights inside the Chief's garden made for a dance floor for the guests as the musicians played from the side. One particular slow song made you pull me up from our seat; one song turned to six, but dancing with you was as easy as floating in water, as familiar as morning warm-ups, and as natural as breathing, which was surprising for me, considering we have not really been dancing with each other as much- but maybe we should.
As you rest in the garden, I walked back to you carrying the dango and tea you asked for. I sat beside you with my arm around your waist and let you rest your head on my shoulder while you ate. Silence has almost always been comfortable between us, except for when you are mad at me and I am being stubborn to not concede yet. We never really needed so many words to communicate and I am proud of that, of how we can look at each other and understand each other well enough to know what the other is thinking.
"I'm pregnant."
Silence between has never been deafening, but the sound of the beating of my heart right then was.
It took me a long time to figure everything out- from my leaving to my coming home- but you had made it worth it. Your endless patience, your unwavering resolve, your unfailing faith in me, and your faithful love for me has led us to that one moment on a makeshift tent by the beach.
The waves crashed on the shore in a forceful but unaggressive kind of way; their sound lulled you to sleep anyway. The fire I stoked burned and gave you warmth during a rather chilly night. You were there; your head was on my lap and my fingers were in your hair, your eyes moved swiftly while closed as you dreamed of what I only assumed were beautiful things, your chest rose and fell in even intervals, and you were lying on your side while your hands clutched close at the growing bump in your abdomen in a manner that told me it was the right decision to choose you. You were there beside me and your presence soothed me. You were sleeping beside me while cradling in your hands the proof of two things: one, you love me, and two, I have finally figured out if I would be happy if I accepted that love from you.
Now, here inside our bedroom bathed in moonlight, there is only so little space between our breaths. The shadows that fall on your face can never outdo the brightness you exude. The way that your eyes have closed in your sleep tells me you feel sated and at peace, the neat stretch of skin on your forehead tells me you are not worried, the gentle curve of your cheeks tells me you are comfortable, and the relaxed lines of your lips tell me that you are happy here beside me. You must be exhausted after working the whole day at the hospital and then coming home to play with and take care of our daughter until she fell asleep peacefully in her room at the other end of the hall. You do not look tired at all, even though you told me otherwise before you succumbed to sleep; it must be the good kind of tired, then. After all, we have not exhausted each other in quite a while as much as we have tonight.
I sleep most peacefully like this: wrapped in the sheets beside you, hugging you close, breathing in the scent of your floral shampoo, feeling your quiet breathing on my skin, counting the rhythmic beating of your heart against my chest, tangling my legs with yours. I find that I have everything I need right here. We have each other to take care of, we have a daughter to look after, we have a beautiful house with a huge window in our bedroom…
We have settled here. We are a family. I sleep unbothered beside you, grateful that it is you who have helped me get my life back together. If not like so, it is like I do not sleep at all.
"Darling," you whisper as you snuggle closer. You do not seem to be waking up, though.
"Wife," I answer as I kiss the top of your head, and we drift.