sunset-moon by Joe Bonita
I have spent hours thinking about how to start this piece. How can I adequately describe my relationship with you? It started so swiftly, it progressed and developed so intensely… I can only do injustice to its explanation.
So (while I think) let me talk about the sunset I watched this evening… I am currently sitting in darkness so it feels like the sky transformed from clear bright blue to a devastating black within seconds (load shedding means no streetlights so yes, it is very very dark), still, it is beautiful, but have you seen the death of a star? Dazzling and destructive, so could this be the same? What if the Sun fights a battle everyday – wanting to share the sky with the Moon (obviously the Sun and Moon are in the sky but the poor fellow is never close enough to fill her craters), wanting to be close to her and every night he loses – if he didn’t, we would all be blinded by their love. Every day he bleeds into the sky – clear blue stained with fiery hues of orange and yellow to pink. His pain lingers while we photograph his shame, and clink our glasses to his defeat and exclaim… “Ah! What a lovely sunset”. Maybe I should gulp down the remains of my glass of wine, the word “love” just slipped out of me like a flaccid penis. Argh.
Well its quiet now, no sounds of the TV or music and a blanket of darkness sweeps across the sky, adorned with shimmering stars twinkling in the distance, but they’re soon smothered by a cushion of fast approaching heavy clouds; I can smell a summer storm on its way.
After what seems like hours, the Moon finally penetrates the darkness, a lonely illumination above the clouds and heavy drops follow (I can’t look up; fat droplets are pounding my cornea).
Anyway, like the Sun and Moon in this made-up story, you and I want the same thing. We want to be in the same space (close enough to fill craters). We have a spark that shines so brightly the stars wonder what on earth shines as bright as the Moon. Its’s crazy to think that a year ago, we were strangers, barely aware of each other’s existence and now you are fundamental to my existence. Days and days passed and it never faded, if anything, you feed my fire… from the first “hello” to the last “goodnight”.
After all these months you ought to call yourself an arsonist. Your heat excites me, I’m glowing and I probably don’t realize I’m burning to the ground.
You are beautiful and you are stubborn, refusing to let go of my attention and claiming it as your own. When I try to pull away (yes I have tried) it hurts me – a proper physical assault, I have taken a beating more than a few times, too afraid to get close but unable to pry open your grip. I have learnt that some things cannot be controlled. You’re a wildfire. The way you creep under my skin is frightening, the way your fingers fit between mine is terrifying… it’s almost like you belong with me. I will burn for you.