Poems of a Lost Girl

(Behind) The man in the moon

The man in the moon

There once was a boy who sat alone in his room, he felt empty inside as he stared at the moon.

“What is must be like to see the world in such a way, all the way up there in the far reaches of space.”

A small bell would sound on the screen next to his lap, he would read the words over before he started to tap, tap on the keyboards to write a reply. Although he was sad he would often lie.

He separated himself from the rest, by the way he would speak and the way he would dress.

He would lie awake all night and speak with the stars, he would dream of the bugs that must live on Mars.

He would eat a questionable meal that he himself cooked

Then he would take out a pencil and write all the things he imagined in a penny notebook.

Of horrors and heroes alike the boy wrote,

He would tell great stories none of which he spoke.

Often he'd get lost in a dream, but anything was better than his reality.

So off he would sail, home to the moon, and if you asked him, he'd say he'd be back soon.

Off he goes without a trace, his teachers and friends wouldn't see him for days.

She leaned back in her chair which rocked slowly a few times as her weight shifted, she sat back rubbing her eyes before running on hand through her hair pushing the long multi colored locks back behind her.

She let out a sigh, dropping her hands to her lap and sitting stationary for a moment before checking her pockets for her phone.

Her eyes met with a sleek black box reflecting off the light of her computer screen, which she then picked up, unlocked and read the headline of a message displayed on the screen.

“@BlackRook said: Love you lol”

Her heart skipped a beat, closing her eyes her mind raced with memories pouring back like grains of sand in an hourglass.

She saw him, young and rambunctious, rambling on of things no one his age thought of while she sat on the wooden railings of a pointless bridge swept away in the moment.

Shivering, she remembers the first time he held her, he smelled of smoke and cheap deodorant. His plush lips brushing the crook where her chin meets her neck, she could feel his smile under the rough prickling of his facial hair that made her skin itch.

She itched her neck instinctively, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Her heart starts racing as she remembers being pressed up against him, his hands wandering down her body making her legs quiver and lips tremble with anticipation. She regrets taking his hand in her own and making distance between them.

His laugh rattles around her brain, she is suddenly thirteen again laying in her bed talking to him on the phone in hushed tones, he whispers a sweet sentiment that turned dirty, she feels her face flush bright red as she uncontrollably giggles.

Then her mood drops, his laughter turns into sobbing, his sultry tones are harsh and broken now, he cries out “I can't do it anymore!” Her blood runs cold as her brain replays night after night, her begging him to sleep it off, and going to bed with a pit in her stomach and the overwhelming fear that when she wakes up tomorrow it'll be a call from a loved one breaking the bad news. She imagines how she would feel, her eyes swell with tears and she pictures herself flung on top of a coffin, her friends begging her to let go but she refuses. She imagines how heartbroken she'd be, how the world would seem colorless so her pictures are in black and white now. She remembers how she felt when her friend committed suicide only a few years ago and how she still misses him. She couldn't imagine the gut wrenching pain that would overcome her if it happened.

She says a prayer to God's she doesn't believe in, prays for his safety and guidance.

She wipes her face and responds casually, knowing he has no idea how much emotion is behind her “I love you.”

Every fight only fueled the fire of passion between them, over every break only brought more longing, each time they inevitably fell back into each other she only loved him more.

She hated herself for it, for she knew it was a pointless love that would only hurt her, and it always did.

He lied to her, kept secrets from her, tarnished her name behind her back she was sure. She fought for him but he didn't fight for her, at least she didn't think.

She would try to explain how she felt but he never could comprehend.

She was a fool, let him in every time he came knocking she would open the door no matter how furious he made her before.

It didn't take much, a few kind words and we'll placed jokes and she ripped a bit of her heart out, sewed on a pretty bow and handed it to him.

She doesn't know if he carried it anymore of if he lost it in his messy bedroom. Perhaps he through it out long ago when they argued last.

Maybe he never even took it home.

She curses herself for devoting another piece of poetry to him, one more art project he'll never see to go in the stack.

Her eyes glanced at a folder stuffed with paper, some edges were even sticking out of the top.

She scratched her head in frustration, but smiled.

One day, when I'm dead and gone all that will matter is how I loved.

And I've loved you more than I could fathom, you break my heart, you fix it too. I want to be your friend until we die, and haunt the universe together forevermore. I want to watch you flourish and bloom, to create works of art the world will consume so egarly you won't be able to write fast enough to appease them.

I'd can't wait to hold your first born baby, to read your first book and build a shelf to store a copy of every book you write from then on.

I can't wait to sit a table with your family and have a holiday dinner, watching you hold your wife lovingly as you talk about how the children are doing in school.

I am so excited to cheer you on from the sidelines, pom poms waving like crazy as you accomplish every little thing.

From graduating College to buying your first home, getting your first publication and every horrible fashion choice in between.

I will be there for you, please lean on me.

I've held your hand this far down the road I won't let go now.

You have so much promise, so much potential, so much life to live and to pleasure to give and receive in this world. And I am so so proud.

That's why your picture sets on my bedside table, because I am so proud of you, when we were kids I didn't think we'd graduate but you did. You made it and you fought so much harder than I ever did.   

I wish I could be so brave and strong. .

Please my Spatzi, never ever give up.