Category: My moon, my man


Wendy blinked, wondering if Tink were playing some fairy magic trickery upon her eyes. But no, there he was, the genuine Peter Pan, looking just as stunned as she! Did she not come here, to her other Neverland to attempt to mend her fatally wounded heart?!? How could her fractured soul comprehend this addition to her sorrowful adventure?

He was the first, others came to be known as Peter as the years accumulated, but it was he who showed her all that was wonderful and terrible at such a tender age. He was her original Moon Man, the one who showed her that she could in fact, fly about the moon and stars and fall so hopelessly in love with them for all of eternity. He dared her to dream, and in return, she dared him to love. And for so long, they left a trail of luminous fairy dust in their wake. They dreamed awake and out loud, together, and played amongst his Lost Boys whom he had gifted her as another family. Too delirious with delight to even consider the dark demise that awaited them, never knowing how long they would wander and wonder if the other were still somewhere to perhaps be found again.

There came a terrible tragedy, one too painful to speak out loud, and Wendy did something that not only broke Peters heart, but hers as well, she ran away from Neverland, silently, and found a suitable place to stop running, even if it were for but a short time. When she had secluded herself upon a tiny island, she would  force away her thoughts of him, never knowing that this would only leave her window open for others like him to come at night, with glimmering promises and fly off with her, only to find herself falling away, always. And she kept their story from all she knew, never wishing to perhaps conjure him lest she should utter his name.

And so they stood, gazing wordlessly at one another, never to have guessed this to happen, here, her other Neverland, of all places!!! Then he smiled, and she heard herself exhale. Fear melted away, words were formed, and the years fell away from their faces and frames, to be transformed to their younger, unscared selves. There was no sound of a clock ticking in a crocodiles belly, no stomping of Hook, just quiet delight.

Soon, their words fell into step with their feet, walking and talking, telling one another of what the many years had brought to them, and the unscathed fascination with the contents of the world dripped over them. All too soon, the hour had grown so very late, and Wendy surprised herself something ferocious, she spoke. She spoke of that which tore them asunder, she had a terrible urgency to atone for her sins, and as it would be, Peter felt much the same. Had truer words and apologies ever been spoken in any faction of Neverland? She doubted it enormously. This burden from half a lifetime ago fell away, being merely bits of grey dust as settled upon the ground, where they left it.

By now, you , the reader of this fine tale, must have surely concluded that Wendy and Peter were then to fly away, together, back to their land of splendid magic, and in other story, yes that very well would have been the case, but no, not now. Perhaps some silent portion in each of their hearts would gladly have lept at such a chance given by the angels, but they both knew it was not the way their story was going to have to end.

In the end, at least the end of this portion of this particular chapter, Peter was ever the gentleman, helping her steady her feet upon the pirate ship that would take her back, but not before he placed precious gems about her wrist, cuffing her to him in some small way forever. And as the boat were to depart, she turned towards the sun, called out to him, her moon, and said what she had never said before,…..

goodbye

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Heart eclipse moon

My  convivial moon, playing such trickery,

doing as I wish not to, hiding in anothers shadow.

A lovers celestial display of affection.

When you gazed upon this wonderment,

did a bit of love drop into your heart, like that of a falling star?

How precious the intangible

For that which you hold in your heart, not hands

Moments shared, quiet understanding, secret smiles

When the gentle, easy flow of words are without boundaries

Hold tight to this, bank it deep within your heart, this is defining

Many of the finest things are not to be bought, or have planned

Life is for the living, no regrets, to love ferociously, honestly

Simply follow where your heart takes you

My moon shall guide you

Trust me

Sundays sadness

Tonight, I walked alone, seeking out the solace of the moon, my moon. I heard the train and its haunting lament as the cool air attempted to awaken something within me. Each step echoed, my boots sounded awkward next to the other wise still evening and my mind wandered briefly, to the days soon to come when nights such as this will bring the promising scent of snow. Warm tears washed across my cheeks, brought on by the strange sadness that pummeled me. Like the train passing, in the darkness, I hadn’t seen it arriving.

Tonight, the moon appeared different to me, did that signify this treacherous descent? Christmas decorations leered at me through the glass along the drive home, and suddenly there was a sharp sadness that poked its way to the surface, and I felt as alone as I ever had. The colors all dripped together as they became blurred through the threat of tears, and I wondered aloud if the sight of them would ever bring me joy again. I felt something vague and bleak swallow me whole, gently breaking my heart and turning me inside out, the vulnerable parts of me exposed once again.

And here I walk, not wishing to be alone in my house, rather alone in plain view of all that is celestial, wishing to understand my complicated heart. I shiver, though I am not cold, just rattled. And I can not for the life of me figuare out why I endure, pressing forward in the arena of  love and the heart break it promises. Do I walk in the darkness tonight, wishing to leave this feeling as I turn some random corner, to have hope to meet up once again with cheery optimism? Do I walk alone in the darkness this evening with hopes of seeking clarity? Or am I merely walking, with lack of destination in any sense, needing to feel my body in motion as my mind reeled, and my heart attempting to reconcile this fracture. Tonight, now, I feel lost, alone, and a strange, sad sensation, why?

The Blues, In a Funk, Out of Sorts, The Mean Reds, Meloncholy Tidbits, call it what you wish. None seemed to fit this particular sensation, what ever it is, it is an univited guest, one of the many faces of sadness.

Dreamland

I miss witnessing

The faint blue

Of the dying night.

For when dreams are not dreamt

They can not be forgotten

In honor

And my moon was a vaporous wisp

A nebulous wish

Shrouded in the vague wonderment of all things ethereal

For tonight, my angels keeping the ever watchful eye shined ever so brightly, they made dim the midnight sun.

And I was protected and surounded by the love of those who have gone before me

Such safety in the knowledge of love ever lasting

May I say to the heavens, the honor was all mine.

Six shooting stars, and upon each, I laid a wish, all the more worth while than that before.

How one dares to lay faith in such childish notions, how ever, I hold them so very dear to my heart, tightly clasping each fragment of youthful idealism. I shall not put asunder such things that bring me great pleasure, for to me, these are not childish whims, the toys one sets aside so carelessly, never to be picked back up again, allowing years of accumulated dust to layer upon them. A symbol to some, but for I, a fierce desire.

I will forever delight in the wishing process, to not have convention suffocate them, never to give into the slow, shallow death of adulthood.

We choose what filaments from our past shall endure in the present, my future. A night that marked six shooting stars will fortify my soul in times that are bleaker than now. For even as the bright streak marking the darkness fades, the passing of time shall not dull the vivid memory banked deep in my heart.

Goon night moon

At this late hour, the moon gazes in upon me, illuminating the place where my head rested. Perhaps it was seeking the need to comfort me when I was lonely, and lost. A question placed upon that distant face, one I dare answer.

I desire the hand that reaches out to clasp mine, the kiss that seeks my lips, the softly uttered words meant for my ears. The urgency of finger tips needing my skin, eyes that hold me with intensity, and a heart that is open to mine. Some may choose to send their wished to the stars, yet I place mine in the moon that welcomes home all of the lost angels with it’s familiar face. I hear the meloncholy, kind whisper,…. ” let go “.

The soft glow of the moonlight gives gentle, if not little comfort as I bid it goodnight. As it and I are both alone now, and only one smiles. I believe I heard its reply, bidding me love.

Potent, luminous, creator of many myths.

With gaze deep and a smile that radiates understanding, this beacon forever to guide me home.

Giver of silent promises to ill fated lovers and the source of inspiration, sonnets in abundance.

The essence of that which flows in my veins, driving eternal the ebb and flow.

Keeper of  small childrens secrets and wanderlusts unfulfilled.

This celestial wonder, my comrade.

Burned into my skin, for safe keeping.

Do the stars keep company?