What the moon saw

Translucent pillars of green stand near and watch as the snowflakes swirl around us in the cold winter air. The dark midnight sky, littered with stars, hangs over head barely lighting our way as we explore this forsaken town.

It's cold, very cold. I'm trying not to let him see how cold I really am in the hopes that I can prolong this evening. I'm upset about something, another betrayal or heartbreak or growing pain. He cares, it angers me slightly. Tonight I just want to feel unloved. We talk about nothing in the hopes that something will be said.

One of us are here reluctantly, the other by choice, neither of us happy. We walk for miles while hours seem like minutes chatting about anything and everything. Making our way north, we follow an all too familiar route. A right turn here, a sweeping left there, strolling as if we are being pulled along train tracks paying no mind to our destination. Soon we arrive at the fair grounds.

There are no stars here like at home, just a few straggling pinpoints in the endless blue. It never gets truly dark, even when we pass the water tower and leave all signs of civilization behind. For weeks I have thought about this spot, about how perfect it could all be. But for me dreams remain dreams, and reality is simply a nightmare I live. The ground is too soft, in my dreams I didn't slip from slush and ice. This then must be real.

Large and empty, we admire the evening view as more light shines down from the heavens upon us, thinking only of each other and how wonderful it is to be alone. Climbing up icy stairs and reaching the top of the grandstand, we embrace…and talk…and kiss…and in this moment my world stands still, yet spins wildly within my soul.

My hands are in his pockets, his jacket smells like old campfire and the barn I grew up in; the most comforting smell in the world. Here we are teetering on the top of the world, icy stairs disappear down into the darkness and only the chain link behind fence stands between me and romantic doom. Then my dream is real, and he is holding me close, and I am enthralled. Complete perfection, it lasts for precious seconds. And I am thinking again. He asks me what's the matter, and I try to answer, except that I don't know what's wrong. It's the first time I've been happy in months, this perhaps is the problem. I have forgotten how to be happy.

The man on moon peaks an eye out from beneath his cover and watches and smiles knowing this is perfect…this is meant to be. Finally, we leave. Upon arriving at your door we share one last embrace, one last kiss for the evening.

And then he leaves, like I knew he would. Recklessly we embrace on the front step-and now I know this is what I want. No more hiding, no more sneaking up and down stairs or across brick paths. Just this, simplicity and contentment. But I know better then to expect that for myself. Simplicity is for others, I am intrinsically complicated.

As I walk home I look to my friend above and without words he tells me everything I want to hear, and I couldn't be happier.

Must Love Dogs

Cold, and dark, and I'm hurrying to get back to you. We both know that neither of us is really happy, I think, but we've put too much time and energy into making this work to let it go. Committed, what a dark word. I'm freezing and thinking about other people, as usual on these long and nowadays solitary walks.

There was a dream once, a poor shabby Utopian dream. We both must have known that it would never, could never work. Living happily on next to nothing, having jobs we liked and kids and dogs. We ended up with careers, and brats, and a mutt. Some dream. I wonder what they're doing some days; if he's living this gray life, or if he's got the husky puppy that he wanted and is following his parents into government work. Then I shut it out again, back to reality and tediously long days and longer nights. Whatever we once had that made those evenings magical has disappeared into your TV and my novels, we each live our own separate fantasy worlds.

In the alley next to the "cozy" apartment is a girl on her cell phone. Silly young thing, shouting and ranting to whoever is on the line, tears and rosy anger boiling in her cheeks. I want to tell her to give up now, accept the mediocrity; but she has years ahead of her to learn that. Tomorrow she will go to the coffee shop that she works at and and there will be a message and a brownie and she will forgive and sigh at her own dream. My key scraping in the door drags me back to my own story, and the snotty nose that is waiting for tired hands to wipe it.

Just Livin' the dream.