Lune

A Story by Chris C.

Being in love with you was like being in love with the moon.

I would spend my days watching you wax and wane, your affection growing and receding, drawing me in and pushing me out like the tide. Your pull was magnetic. I would lay awake at night gazing at the soft glow of your beauty, so close but so unobtainable. I would breathe softly so as not to wake you, and wonder how long this could last. For you, like the moon, had no real need of me. You had the sun and the planets and the cosmos whirling around you in a constant cacophony of adoration. What was one more star in your sky?

Do you remember, though? Do you remember the mornings when you would wake, awash in the sunlight that came streaming through my bedroom window? You would shield your eyes and make tired little noises and I, hearing you rouse, would bring you coffee in bed because I loved to see your face light up in a smile. We would sit in the warm glow of the morning and listen to NPR on my phone and for a moment I could see you full, illuminating the world around us. You would draw me in, as close as two people can be, as close as gravity.

Then, as we rose and walked out into the chill of the early spring day, you would start to recede back from me. You would tell me of your doubts and concerns, about how you weren't ready for all this. Like you weren't ready to be happy. Like you were in love with the idea of sorrow. I would walk a little slower and look down at my feet, hoping the right words were hidden beneath them. I searched in vain for the words that would wash away your fears and uncertainty, but I never said the right thing. I never do. The chill in the air was palpable and I saw, then, how my shadow blocked your light and you waned.

I still remember the look on your face as we rode the train to the airport. You sat splayed out next to me, your luggage piled around you like a barrier that I seemed incapable of penetrating. As you stared blankly ahead, I could see that all the light had gone out of my night sky.