You once told me that your past lover was like the sun that illuminated your heart; the small empty room within the old and fragile house that was you. His light cast down on you, you begin to see the need for you to make yourself better, to tidy up for any unexpected visitor that may arrive in your old and abandoned house.
You told me that he was the unexpected visitor of your old and abandoned house that made you want to be at your best behavior. You told me that it was with him that you were at your best possible self. With him, you saw your mistakes, the scraped floorboards and the unwashed plates on the porcelain sink; but at the same time, he made you want to be better. Soon enough, you were no longer the old and abandoned home that you were. Your heart was a room stacked with romantic books and journals that take hold of the things that you have realized with him. Your house was a two storey home in Murrieta, California; with carpeted floors and centralized air conditioning. You were still you, but you said you were better.
Which is why when he left you, when the rays of the sun have left your house, you did not know what to do. Enveloped in utter darkness, you searched for light, but you remember that you have gotten so used to his warm glow that you forgot to install lights in your house. You were left standing in your kitchen sink, in the middle of rinsing off his plate; and now you start to wonder whether he was an unexpected visitor or a thief. You realized that while he made you want to be better, he never taught you how to love yourself; flaws and all.
You told me I was the moon that gave you the light at the time when you needed it the most. You told me I saved you from the darkness that was spooning you for five months already. You held my face with your papery hands, as your tears continued to fall, you kissed me.
And just like that, you were the sun that illuminated the tiny Brooklyn apartment that was my heart. And yes, my heart doesn’t have much space to let other people in, but you went in and filled up the spaces that I didn’t know existed.
You were my sun. But I was just your moon. And light cast by the moon is just a reflection of the sun’s radiance. I was your rebound, the water in that tub that you wanted to submerge yourself in and disappear completely. I know that I wouldn’t be able to give you everything. I know that I wouldn’t be able to give what he gave to you. I know that as your moon, I could only give much. But I was hoping that the light that I gave to you would be enough. I was hoping that maybe you’d learn to live with the darkness still standing in the corner of your house. I thought that when you finally had the moon, you wouldn’t look for the sun anymore.
But that’s not how you saw things. You saw things the way time did. That after the sun goes, the moon arrives. And that when traces of the sun begin to resurface in your skyline, you wouldn’t be able to see the moon anymore. When he called you and asked for you to take him back, you didn’t even take time to think about it. And when I asked why, you told me again about how he was like your sun and you were the house that was in need of his light.
You’re probably enjoying your time with him right now, basking in his radiance and completely oblivious to what we once had. And that’s okay. But as you look inside yourself, as you look around the halls of your two-storey home, I hope you’d happen to see me; the ghost sauntering the cold halls of your house. Letting out wails of agony that are interrupted before they even echo. But then I guess if I’m ghost, I should at least matter to you.
Do I still matter to you?
Did I even matter to begin with?
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
janainaart
snowghoul
2087
