A Short Story: Luna

As I watch through your window, you light an incense stick.

Your hands tremble delicately as you bring the flame up to the wood and witness its fumes disperse; mainly in the direction of your face, but you don’t flinch. You also know that I’m watching you too through your single-glazed windows. I know that you can hear me breathe but you still don’t hesitate as you move your lighter away from the wood and towards your mouth. More fumes fill the room. Incense fumes and cigarette smoke cross paths in your bedroom and you witness this, bearing no consideration to your contradictive acts. Perhaps you like the smell. I can just about imagine them mingling together, in your nostrils and later your lungs. All I can see right now is the reflection of the cigarette smoke in your eyes as you blow rings.

A few more exhales and you’ll let me in, through the window, without a word. I wish you spoke to me. I know you keep a place for me, somewhere in your room, mind and maybe heart.

Stubbed out in your ashtray, I can feel myself grimace as you saunter over towards my direction whilst looking through me. Why are you making this so hard? Your every action, move, moment is poetic, and I know that when I fall through your window, my stamina won’t hold up for much longer. That’s okay though.

“We can’t keep doing this.” your voice quakes.

It trembles much harder than your fingers did and your cool, mellow stance is shattered. I’ve tumbled into the room and broken your serenity. I feel like I have broken you. I could’ve stared into your soul forever but now that I am here, I can see the glass of your eyes and the cement of your skeleton shatter in my presence. I don’t blame you, I really don’t. I usher you back into bed, a little force needed, and I stroke your nose as I’ve always done.

“This is the last time.”

How do you tell the girl of your dreams you love her? When you’ve turned her into a fragile shell of the vibrant, fairy-like being she once was just by simply knowing her. What we were doing wasn’t wrong. Two kids in love. With added toxicity.

I knew this from the very beginning. You weren’t the first and you wouldn’t be the last to suffer, either. From the first incense stick with stable hands, explosive confidence and pink lungs. I never planned for things to turn down such a dark path or for encounters to transform from daylight romance to moonlight atrocities. My subconscious knew we’d end up like this. How this day hasn’t come sooner will always bewilder me.

I used to plait your hair as we spoke of our favourite drinks and genres but as the drinks became boring, so did the discussions and months later, we end up here. The opposite of what we ever were, and it was all my fault even though I still showed no sympathy towards your state or consideration for my own. We won’t speak like this, but we won’t ever stop being like this, so, we don’t speak anymore. I’m too weak to continue and I know that this’ll be the last time. Maybe. I take the lighter from your hand and walk over to your desk-drawer. No words exchanged. We knew what we were doing, and we knew that this would be the final time for either of us.

Luna, sobriety is over our heads now.


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