Moonshine

When All The Streets Have Settled

Last year, they both knew they had slipped beyond what they ever promised. It was an intimacy neither could admit, veiled in shadows and whispers, wrapped in the intoxicating haze of golden elixir. They never spoke of it, but they felt it—burning beneath the surface.

When he visited the mental health office, it was her that haunted his thoughts. The irony was dark and delicious. He laughed to himself when he remembered calling her "my little psycho firebug", a nickname that stuck after she confessed, in the quiet of the night, that she had dreamt of starting fires. Twice. He adored her madness.

He gave her names—secret, sultry names—that reflected her wildness, a wildness that drove him to the edge of obsession. It wasn't just her insanity. It was their insanity, spiraling together.

"You know I like hearing from you, right?"

"You know I have feelings for you, right?"

"You know I'm drawn to you, right?"

"You know I love you, right?"

His words were like silk, wrapping around her, leaving a lingering heat.

"I'll spoil you if you let me be corny," he'd tease, knowing how easily he could disentangle her and entangle her with him.

"I'll be clingy if you let me be clingy,"

He promised to pick her up from work every day, coffee in hand, just as she promised to throw herself into his arms with reckless abandon. They both made promises in the dark, knowing they were dancing dangerously close to the flame.

"Would we be less miserable if we were together? I believe I would be..."

But they will never know.

Some people swear to live for each other. Not them. They promised to die together. Because in death, maybe there, they would finally have each other. There, they would be free from the chains of reality, free from the torment of wanting what they could never have.

They longed for the end of the world, that moment where they would pull each other close, the flames of destruction casting shadows as they spent their last seconds in each other's arms. That, they believed, would be perfection.

Reality only served to break their hearts over and over, but in the secret places where desire and desperation lived, they both knew—and hoped—where their lips should meet.