That night we ate magical things that we supposed to free our minds in to forgetting for just one night that we are tiny fragile beings with perish dates stamped on our forheads and after years of searching through science and humanity none of the answers that might actually make it a little easier to sleep at night.
It was just me and him and a hot summer in a house without furniture and cable. In the aftermath of death someone had come to collect all the evidence of life and had left only plates, a water jug and a single tree growing in the corner. As if by removing the evidence of life, you could remove the memory of it. We ate magical moonbeams that opened our minds, the only problem was that they were still our minds and when you opened them up the insides were not as pretty as we wished. The opening of ones mind, especially a troubled mind can be plenty dangerous.
It's amazing the things that greet us everyday and every night that we stop taking notice of. We take forgranted the sun rising, we forget to look up, to look out or to even taste our food. That night, with my newly opened mind, I became best friends with the man in the moon, I stared for hours at him, at his soul and i could almost count the inches between little tiny fragile me and the pull of the moon. Ive always liked the moon better, it's like the unpopular sidekick to the sun, the underdog...alot like me.
He sat on the concrete strumming the same 4 chords incessantly on the guitar over and over again, as if he knew what i already knew. If he stopped playing he would start thinking. We opened our brains and my brain was filled with wonderment and wanderlust and his brain was filled with missing pieces and missing persons, he stopped strumming
"You know, I couldn't ever write a song that was pretty enough to explain you."
And I looked at the moon, and at him, and at his stained t shirt and greasy hair and crooked toes. Outside a house with no furniture, no love and a closet full of his father's shoes, but no father. I knew he was right., everything that was his was ugly. I was unremarkable, a imperfect girl, but next to him, I was golden.
"But you should still try"
Because thats all I could give him, hope. I didn't have money, any power and deep words of wisdom. I could share with him my hope, hope that people find the other people they need to fill the holes people leave. The hope that we have more sunrises left in our life, the hope that beautiful things and beautiful loves exist, the hope that if he would just stop looking at the ground. He would see that the world wasn't out to get him- it just felt that way.
He put down his guitar and I stopped looking at the moon, we sat there long enough for our minds to expand. I saw little men dancing on the fence posts and stars so close I put some in my pocket for later.
By the time I looked up at him his eyes were wide.
they are all over me"
And he cries, because when he opened his mind the thoughts became bugs and the bugs began to crawl on his skin, bugs that you couldn't get off you. They entulfed his body and he sat perfectly still, staring at me in shock, tears streaming down his face.
And, oh I wanted to. I wanted the night to end, so that he could see it wasn't real, that nothing was out to get him and that he was more than the dark places inside him. That nothing was out to get him.
But, it wasn't true.