The moonlight danced beside me, playing with shadows as children play with puddles.
It was calm and quiet but I sensed music in the air, as though the world waited expectantly for miracles to happen.
I became a creature of duality, bathed in silver and jet. I too became a shadow, striding into and out of two completely separate forms of existence.
A form belonging only to the night: cold, pale and beautiful; unlike any other fragile body caught between dance and defiance.
There were no eyes to stray to me. All was still and empty, space filled with an intake of breath, possibility, potential, the dreams of today huddled together before tomorrow’s sun wipes them from memory.
The moonlight dances beside and until she rests the world remains unforgotten and reverently alive.
It is silent, all too silent
Even deep within my bones
Where my heart ought to beat
It is dark and yet so blinding
My eyes closed for fear of finding
What they’d meet
And all is silent
A dead end in a broken street
The smoking moon had been torn away from the stars and the dim lights speckled an uneasy sky. It seemed frayed at the edges with dusty clouds steadily encroaching until it seemed a great blanket had been lowered and it hovered restlessly above the lake.
Ice crinkled beneath his boots as he made the first steps out to her but soon he was wading into cold water with his breath frosting before him and shivers wracking his thin frame. Beneath the film of liquid her eyes were dark and blind. He marvelled that she could not experience her own magic, not until freed from her would-be grave. He imagined it a sea of tears from which he could pluck her, wipe her tears away and watch a hesitant, shaky smile gradually re-emerge.
But she wasn’t a child. She was older than he was. She was submerged light in an abyss and he fancied the moon had settled into her skin once it had left the night sky barren and alone, ousted from its ancestral home.
His fingertips grazed the surface and delved deeper than expected until he found one cold hand and tugged gently until the figure began to rise steadily. Small bubbles erupted around her, racing to the surface after the first exhale.
She floated, and he pulled her away to the edges and glanced nervously into black eyes full of awareness, absorbing the night. She was stone, a perfect statue that judged him carefully before righting itself fully and abandoned him for the night. The lake reflected the curious twinkles that peeped back through the cloud’s net. Watching, and waiting.
The ripples toyed with strands of hair and they swam apart from her with a life of their own. She was still and silent but around her was a mane of fireworks exploding into vibrancy as the moon emerged to look down upon them: the sleeper and the dancer.
For he moved with the wind and his eyes were bright and alive, searching and yearning. The starlight was a great façade, an elaborate stage of spotlights guiding him through the night. The mirror was mostly unbroken but he tiptoed around its fraying edges and the breeze rustled his tangled hair, and his eyes came upon her.
The moonlight enveloped her still form and the beauty of that moment surpassed his terror for how could so wondrous a being cease to shine once the moon turned its gaze away, even in sorrow.