Wednesday, March 2, 2011
I gave you away (old prose)
"I give you the moon." I whispered softly as we stretched ourselves between the earth and the stars. There was nothing between the grass and my hair, so when I sat up, there were bits of green interlaced with the brunette.
I loved him so much at that moment that it hurt simply to think about it. We lay there beside the water on the hill of our own future, and I had just given him everything I had to give.
He picked the grass from my hair ever so gently, and brushed his own masculine fingers through it. He tucked the stray pieces behind my ear and whispered he loved me. I am not sure, but right then is the time I stopped believing him.
He told me he loved me, and right then I did not believe him any longer.
I pulled his fingers away from my face. I ran my fingers through his hair, and I looked up at the moon. I watched it move across the big, beautiful sky so slowly that if you blinked, you would miss it.
I had forgotten what I had loved about him. I mean, I loved the way he smelled, and the way I would catch him looking at me from the corner of my eye. I loved the way he woke me up with a soft kiss on the forehead when he stunk of his work. (Even the stink I loved.) I loved the way he looked in his tux he wore at prom, but in the time we spent apart in the last few weeks, I was seeming to forget how blue his eyes were. And being as dark as it was outside right at that instant, I wasn’t able to remember how they seemed to match the sky.
Maybe he sensed the way that I could never forgive him. Or maybe he just decided to take my gift and run. But right then he got up, separating the sky from the earth, and he touched my arm one last time, and he walked away with the moon.
The light never seems as bright, and the sky will no longer be a part of me. The sky is so far away, and the moon.
I gave him the moon.