Moonlight Kisses

the spot: part one

no perspective.

The moon shines brightly among the near-pitch black sky. The scenery beneath its pale illumination is painted black and white. The white moonlight casts over buildings, stains shadows at the feet of nightwalkers. Most of the city is tucked away in their homes, unaware of the things that go bump in the night. As for the rest who walk the streets of the city are too on edge to stare up at the moon. It's a testy city. Those who are preyed on are keeping their keys between their fingers, ready to strike if those who are doing the preying attack. There is no second to spare drifting off, basking in all the moon's glory when you're walking outside at 4 am. And yet there the moon sits, high in the sky, watching over everything like a guardian angel.

Two tortured souls infected with the inability to rest their minds toss and turn in their beds. In two houses in two completely different neighborhoods they stare up at the ceiling thinking about the same thing: each other.

He throws a ball up to the ceiling, watches it come down through the works of gravity, and catches it in the same hand. The whole night.

Up.

I should've held her longer.

Down.

I should've told her to stay.

Up.

I could've stopped her.

Down.

I could've talked her through this.

Should've, would've, could've. All broken possibilities of whether or not there was still a chance for him in her eyes. He knew he fucked up, badly. When the door shut behind her, he came down from his panicky state of mind. The panic that arose from waking up and finding her in his arms. The fear that terrorized him when he found himself wanting to pull her closer, to rub her heavenly scent all over his body so he'd never lose it. The harsh truth that broke through that ever peaceful tranquility: that he couldn't take her down his spiral. Selfishness wasn't an option when it came to her.

Selfishness wouldn't be an option when it came to him either.

She sits up against the frame of her bed with a black elastic around her wrist. She pulls it back and lets go, letting the rubber snap against her wrist. Over and over again. The whole night.

Pull back.

I should've let myself hold him longer.

Snap.

I should've pretended like I was still asleep.

Pull back.

I could've stayed.

Snap.

I could've been a little selfish.

Again, could've, would've, should've. Circulating in her mind were all the things she could have done if she wasn't so scared of letting people down. The things she could have right now if she didn't keep herself in denial for so long. The more stable she'd be if she didn't repress her desires. Happier she'd be if she were to put herself first. But when she tried that, it blew up in her face catastrophically. Up until the truth came out, she felt more like herself than ever before. She craved that feeling. She craved him.

His phone sat on the nightstand beside his bed. Hers sits on the marble vanity just a few feet away. They're merely a call away from one another and yet they can't seem to take up the task of picking up their devices and calling the one person that's been on their minds since morning came.

The same moon shines through their windows. They're close, more than they know. The same moon casting shadows upon her room is being blocked out of his through the closed shutters. Maybe their worlds weren't as different as they had once perceived. Maybe this was the fucked up universe's way of telling them they correlated in more ways than one. Maybe tonight, or this morning, they could figure that out for themselves.