Moonlight Wishes ❦

my muse is me.

let me tell you this. you can't and won't ever take anything of mine away from me.

there is a place in my house, a little space where you can only stand, or sit. minimal movement is allowed. it used to be a storage unit, so it was small, but cute. if i was still a teenager, i would play 7 minutes in heaven in there.  

i can still taste the air on my tongue, the night i cursed myself because i'd heard his voice, and it had sent butterflies through me. i was a fool, in love, back then. and that little place in my house became my den — our den. i used to hide there to sit and listen to him for hours on end. i'd sit there and dream about him. long for him, 

and i was so fucking terrified of going back when he was gone. was it still our den? i passed by it a million times before i ever had the courage to actually go in it, go there and stand with my feet planted to the ground.

and suddenly even the closeted little space was much too open, open and empty enough to remind me of his absence.

but it was mine. mine and mine alone. i filled it with books and motivational sticky notes and love. i wouldn't let him take my little den from me. it was mine. 

my sister studies there every day now and i'm proud of her. that's a love i can handle. that's the love the room was made for. 

more so, my house back in a town i left behind had the biggest terrace.  it was the very pillar of my sentimentality; the reason mother nature reached out to me and healed me.

and i remember, with the biggest stent of pride in my heart, i promised myself that the only one that would ever get to be with me here would be a very, very special man. a Godsent soulmate, i gloated. 

so when the devil dressed in a narcissist's coat goaded me into inviting him to my sacred space, i did so without thinking. and there i was, foolish, naive that i let him in. i let him in, i remember crying to my mother months later when i slept in her lap and only in her bed to feel like her little girl again. 

and for a cruel, cold fortnight i did not step foot outside of my room. i avoided the terrace, i avoided the very path to it.

until in the midst of a cruel winter, the sun stepped out to burn the soles of the ground, and with its warm serendipitous presence, tempted me into stepping foot outside.

and there i was, ever so valiant, under the bluest sky i'd ever seen; with trees of green that were a sight to my sore eyes. i planted my feet onto the ground again and felt the breeze caress my face before the wind whispered its secrets to me.

the terrace was mine. and there, in harmony with the howling wind, i yelled and screamed till mother nature and i reconnected like old times. she looked at my wounds and she healed them all. the marks are still there, but the wind tells me it's her version of a tattoo. 

you won't take anything of mine away from me.