Sweetness in Starlight

I only ever saw her at night – if I was lucky. Sometimes I saw her gazing up at the stars in just her nightgown. Other nights she’d be dancing under the moonlight. In other occasions you could see her lips purse as she carefully made a wish when a shooting star happened to pass by. And when I didn’t see her, it was those days where it was just darkness; nothing to be seen in the night.

Lately, there were no dark nights – which I was more than thankful for. At times I thought of myself as mad for expecting her to come out each night. She always came out in that white gown of hers. The gown itself emitted its own soft glow underneath the night light, her train gracefully moving with each step she took, as if she were floating. It amazed me how not a speck of dirt would stain it, despite its length. Her skin was fair, not an imperfection to be seen. She wore her hair down past the small of her back, as if proud to have had such soft curls that others no doubt envied.

If I was lucky I’d get a glimpse of her face. Her pale blue eyes smiled at whatever light the darkness had to offer her. Those pouty lips of hers would no doubt cause her trouble. But when they weren’t pursed, she’d smile sincerely. And when she did, you’d notice the single dimple underneath her left eye. She’d move her head back, as if chuckling to herself. I imagine the sound of her laugh each time she does this; how she was graced with such a soft voice – it’d send chills up my spine.

I once tried to take a picture of her. The photo came out as a blank. Rage filled me, and I ripped the black photo to shreds. I looked to find her once more, only to find the night sky masked in darkness. Capturing nothing was not what bothered me. Something unsettling then took over my stomach, but I could never piece it together. It hurt. It just hurt.

Her beauty hurt me. It was impossible to look at her without feeling hurt. That was when I realized what the unsettling feeling was. She was imperfect. And you could see that when she wouldn’t show up in the darkness. Because I knew she was elsewhere, elsewhere she didn’t want to be. The picture I shredded lay on the floor, and for a second I swore I saw her in them, terrified. And then it hit me. I couldn’t see her in darkness, but I could hear her. I don’t know how I could hear her through that photo. She was screaming, and I imagine those pale blue eyes longing for the light in the darkness again. Then in that moment I realize that she and I were one.

When I was blessed to see her again under the skies, she smiled as if nothing bothered her. I never tried to take a photo ever again. Instead, I would join her under the stars or moon. She never noticed my presence. I noticed everything about her. Here, she was at peace in the light of the darkness. I understood now.

There were now more days that I would see her, and less days of darkness. There were now more days I could cope, and less days of hurt. I wrote her this letter, to tell her I was so proud of her for battling the darkness. I was so proud of her for facing her fears. I was so proud that she found peace. I was proud to be wedded to her. And I still am proud.