Taking back the Moon

Chapter Twenty-One

"How sweet the moonlight, 

Sleeps up on this bank, 

Here will we sit and let the sound of music creep in our ears, 

Soft stillness and the night, 

Become the touches of sweet harmony."

                                                                                    - Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

                                                                                       R. Vaughn Williams arr. 

***

When I was 15 and in choir, this was one of the audition pieces for Regionals. Around the age of 24, I had to relearn this piece for my choir director's retirement. 

It's funny how without prompting, a song can pop into your head like a bunny rabbit popping onto a playground. Skipping into your senses, and skipping back out without so much as a glance back in your direction. 

It's only with reflection that we understand why this song becomes stuck. 

What the hell kind of purpose could this song have had for me right then?

But there's the key word: moonlight. 

The moon was finding its way into every facet of my life; every fragment of my conscience. 

It was there even when I thought it wasn't. 

So was he. 

Even when I'm not thinking about him, he's there. In my conscience, marking me. Taking me for his own. 

Taking my freaking moon from me. 

I recognize that it's not him. He isn't literally haunting me. It's whatever darkness surrounds him swallowing my light. 

Maybe it's me. 

Maybe I'm the moonlight. 

***

Like my sense of self: just because I can't be seen doesn't mean I'm not there. 

I am the moon and its light. 

I never go away completely. 

I'm just a slave to the shadows.