Forever Isn't the Night

Have you ever woken up and realized your life was in shambles?

All the dreams you had, every item you've ever wanted, the many people you wanted to meet, the achievements you would make—each and all were blown away on the wind's breath, tangible as smoke.

What did you have to look forward to yesterday? What was today supposed to bring? Is there a reason to believe tomorrow will be any different?

It makes me wonder.

It really makes me wonder.

Why did I waste so much of my life waiting, wanting? What is there in this world I could ever have?

Wish for? Many things.

Have?

It's so exhausting.

It's all so exhausting.

Some days, I just want to sleep. That's all. Sleep.

But then I wake up.

The dreams are the same. The nightmares never end.

Over and over. On and on.

It's all just so exhausting.

Hey.

Did you ever wake up and find your life so broken and beyond repair, you wished you hadn't woken up at all?

*

The night was long and the stars many, and she and I lay together on the hillside, watching the countless shimmers glide across the pitch dome. There was no moon tonight. Not one I could see.

“My moon's falling,” she said beside me, and to silence she returned.

“How close?” I asked, and she said, “How many stars are there?” I told her, “One for each memory.”

How many years had it been since we met? Keeping track was difficult. Had she said it had only been six months, I would have believed her.

My finger stood for the sky, I pointed out the stars, and though I didn't know their names, I knew the memories they represented: our first encounter at a local cafe; our awkward first date made worse upon realizing I had forgotten my wallet; the first kiss I messed up when I missed her lips; losing track of the night texting each other; jumping on the bed our first night moving in;m adopting a pet hamster and naming him Tora for the strips on his back; her cheering me on before my shift at work and me doing the same for her; a fight when our expenses exceeded our income that month; budgeting our expenses and tracking every cent; recounting the silly childhood dreams we had; sharing the career paths we failed to follow after graduation; burying Tora in the backyard; holding her after finding her sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket; sitting together at the dining room table, saying nothing, doing nothing but watch as her finger traced the rim of her mug and her eyes stared into some invisible world; sitting in a park holding hands, saying nothing, doing nothing but watch the wind ripple the lake surface; forgetting the curl of her smile because I hadn't seen it in so long.

We lay, looking up, gazing out. Though we were beside one another, she felt farther than any moon or star, and my hand reached for hers. Our fingers were now intertwined. Her hand felt neither warm nor cold.

“Do you only see suns?” she asked. “Distant suns?”

“Right now, yeah,” I said, and I went silent, and she did, too, and I thought, and I didn't know what she did.

We came out here stargazing a lot. Lately, it was all we did.

I closed my eyes, and when next I opened them, time had passed, but seconds or hours, I didn't know. The stars were frozen in their state.

“Are the stars bright?” she asked, and I checked so I could answer.

“A few,” and she replied, “Then most are dim?” and all I said was, “Yeah.” Most were dim.

My days were spent anymore in slumber for night shifts and her insomnia. On this warm summer night, I suddenly felt a chill roll over and texture my skin. The sun seemed like a distant memory.

“Are you cold?” she asked, and I admitted I was. “You?” She admitted she had grown used to the cold.

Her free hand reached into the air and stroked some unseen object that curled where her palm lay. “My moon,” she said, “is so close, I can touch it.”

“I think tomorrow,” she continued, “it'll touch me.”

“And then?” I did not ask, for I had a lump in my throat. I had no need to ask, for I knew the answer.

Rolling onto my side so my free hand could reach hers, I grabbed it, feeling only her soft skin and nails, and brought both her hands to rest between our hearts.

“I love you,” I told her, and I told her again, “I love you.”

“I love you, too” she said back, and then she let out a breath, and it was warm.

“I'm here for you,” I said to her. “Now and forever.” And she said, “Thank you.”

We lay like that, our hands entwined, our foreheads touching, her moon close enough to feel, my stars far enough to admire.

“I'll keep you warm,” she said. “Forever and ever.” And I said, “Thank you.”

“Since your stars are so far away,” she added. “I'm right here.” And I thought.

“I'd love to feel the sun on my skin again,” and she said, “Won't my moon block it?”

“Maybe it will,” I said. “But I still think eclipses are beautiful.” And eclipses are rare.

On that horizon, its pitch curve cutting the countless stars in half, an invisible brush would paint a pale blue, and the sun would awaken, bright enough to bring more color to the land, then its golden shine would lift the frost from our skins. How I longed to bask in that majesty.

I promised I'd stay with her the whole night.

And the night's been long.

So, so long.

But I hoped—

Perhaps...

We could see this everlasting night break.

And feel the sun's warmth on our bodies once more.