The moon was a ladle dipping into my life, a sickle of fate scooping out my love. Instead of remaining placid, allowing it to scoop it away without the rest of me into the abyss of her unknown heart, I hung onto the edge. I hung on while droplets of my love fell away, skimming space, streaking to ground. The moon dragged across the shadows of sky, leaving a web in wake. The tiny, frail, iridescent threads drifted like ribbons and the loose drops of my love became lost confetti. The ribbons of web were the essence of sound, and the bits of love confetti were my unheard pleas rippling in the past.
The entrails of sound, the ribbons of my remorse and sorrow, formed an intricate web of sticky shapes of meaning. When the moon rested, I hung on for as long as I could, but as the quiescent wait overwhelmed my tired grip, my effort felt in vain. I slept. My dreams brought me to the same place of stuck space and my soul was wrought with anxiety, of breathless drowning. I hung on and swung with hopes of her return, but the web just grew dilapidated and weak. With it, my soul lost hope.
Tired, weak of hanging, I pulled myself into the cradle of the moon and thought of the picture books of childhood. Depictions of an old man with glorious white angel wings playing a trumpet, or of a cow hurdling, photo flashed through me. My heart jumped and I felt like a crumpled piece of paper. The wet bits of my love soaked into me and I was kissed by the salty brew.
The moon, with new destination soared across the horizon, searching for her soul to pour my love in. At the peak of momentum, it would give way to stagnate darkness. The web of memories snagged stars like a net and they flickered. The shapes and flicker of stars were the mosaic of my being. I watched it wave like a parachute.
When light interrupted the darkness with subtle tone, I stirred and felt new love leaking from the corners of my eyes. It tickled down my face and slipped off my earlobes into the overflowing ladle. The moon was carrying me over the horizon, away from the day I had prayed for.
"NO, NO, NO…", I shouted at the moon. You are supposed to find her and pour this love over her, into her…
The moon didn't reply.
We drifted. I looked down into the sordid ocean of failure and quaked as I felt the moon tip, pouring my love away. Conical splashes leapt in the air, and thunderous roars like snoring cicadas vibrated.
There was a line, a line between this sea and sky, where blue mingled with tone. I climbed onto the parachute of web and stars, sticking to the sorrow, letting it hold my body. I ripped it free, as the crescent moon slipped away. I was falling onto the line of sea and sky. The blue was moving higher and a brilliant orange swallowed the night.
I felt the tips of my toes tickle the water and I ran onto the blue line. I ran along it and the edge of the world looking to find where the moon had gone. I shouted the name of my love and felt myself rise again into the sky.
A giant orange globe pushed me up, breaking my mosaic parachute. The speed of our progress pushed my eyes closed and the wisps of errant hair to my forehead. When we stopped high in the sky, I looked down at the ocean where the moon had poured my love. It was brighter now and the white tips of the waves rushed in alignment toward a shore. On the shore was a band of beach and all the sand were bits of her love.