𝐑𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧 ✓

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

RopeBurn

"I'm not angry anymore
Well, sometimes I am
I don't think badly of you
Well, sometimes I do"

Elvira

↽———⋆♥︎⋆———⇁

          The moon was more than a friend, it was something I used to seek comfort from on rainy nights and rough times. Hours of mine were spent speaking to it as though it had the ears to listen, as though it could comprehend the syllables that left past the tip of my tongue. It wasn't something I had done from my own imagination but rather the imagination of my father, who often spoke to the moon as a way of honoring his deceased father. It was a family tradition, one I had no intention of sharing with any offspring I may have the luxury of raising.

     On nights that I felt brave enough, I'd sing to him. To the moon, that is. It felt as though he was listening to every lyric no matter how silly or in vain it may have been. Foggy eyes of mine would stare up at the moon, tears left streaks onto the hollows of my cheeks. For awhile, it replaced that gaping hole left behind inside from my fathers death.

     If I can remember correctly it was sophomore year when the moon seemed as though it no longer listened to the words I cried it's way. It was after my first high school party, the boy I had liked since fifth grade was entangled in another woman's arms. It was such a childish and petty reason to cry, yet I found myself drunkenly talking to the moon from my windowsill. I screamed about how foolish I had been to fall for someone who barely new the first letter of my name.

     And yet even with the childish rambles I needed someone to listen to me, just about anyone would have done. I chose my father, or better yet the moon. His wedding picture in my hand was the only reminder of what my father was like in the flesh. His guitar in my lap the closest thing I had to his embrace. When I needed him to listen he seemingly covered his ears and sung over my song, ignoring every word I had spun delicately for him to critique.

     It was then I stopped talking to the moon, when I had finally realized that no matter how much I screamed upwards into the night no response would be heard. No matter how many times I visited his grave he'd feel and know nothing of my presence. No God existed to me afterwards. No moon replaced the wound my father had left bleeding. The moon was simply the push and pull of the waves, and I.. simply an idiot who believed it to be something far more.

     So standing now under the stars should have made no difference. My voice should have stayed silent, forever unchanged. "Are you listening Daddy?" I called out to the moon, it's ears unchanging towards the cords I had struck. "If you happen to be, I could really use your help." No help would come to me, this much I understood and knew. Yet my feet stayed planted atop of the balcony's rocky surface. My saturated hair swayed in the cool night air like a leaf in autumn weather. "When did you know Mama was meant for you? You always said  God sent her to you, yet there is no God to begin with. How did you know?" There  was no need to stay outside, my chilled skin would be more at ease underneath the comfort of my bed.

     And Yet I remained, feet unmoving and heart beating desperately. "You never taught me things like this, Papa. Boys were always so confusing to me yet you never shared your enlightenment towards how I could solve their puzzles. You left me without teaching me how to know when they were the one." The breath that had left my mouth seemed to hitch, no air escaping into my lungs. Tears threatened to expose my fragile nature, the hollows of my cheeks cheering them on like they once had. "He doesn't hold the door open for me, or kiss the back of my hand when he holds it. Yet I feel like I'm suffocating in a pile of sand whenever he leaves me. I crave to have his fingers through my hair, his legs tangled up in mine. Am I crazy Daddy?" It was the same as it always had been. No response came from the moon, no push in the right direction seemed to come forth.