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.
"You never told me what I'd feel when I finally found the right one. You left me without telling me anything! You never even told me goodbye Papa!" The crack in my voice should have been enough of a warning to stop. I had already overstayed my welcoming in the moons presence, my time had been wasted for longer than planned and yet I stayed here in the same position. "You never told me how to know when I was really in love. How do I know that he is the one I want to spend my ill days with. How did you know? What was the secret behind your love?" Just as it was before, the moon left me with nothing more than the echo of my own words within my head. It was the same, unchanging. Silence reaped among me, preying on my frail heart. "Why won't you answer me father? Why did you tell me to talk to you like this if you never had the intention of answering me?" Tranquility, the crickets chirping and my own sobs were the only threats towards interrupting the quiet nature of the moons response.
"I hate you." Finally, I had said it. "I hate how you left us all behind. How mom never tried to replace you or how your son fell into the wrong hands. I despise how you left so many things unanswered. How you told me to talk to you as though you'd ever truly take the time to listen. It irks me, the thought that you are finally free from your suffering. I know it's selfish, but I want you here. Even if that meant you'd be in pain, I wanted you to be the one to walk me down the isle. It was you who was supposed to hold my hair back when I got too drunk from the parties. You were supposed to hold me when I cried and yet your arms are no longer anywhere in sight." The rambling continued, my brain searched for more reason that I had wished him to be in my line of sight. Anything to make my selfish nature appear less shallow than it truly was.
"I really do, you know? I hate how you left me, I hate how you told me that you were the moon. I hate how I forgot your voice, and what it felt like to be in your arms. That I can't remember your bed head or how you cooked my eggs. I hate you, Dad. I hate you!" A gentle hand eased onto my shoulder, calloused fingers circling the smooth skin that covered my achy bones. I didn't need to see the face to know who it belonged to, I knew well enough.
"Give your old man a break would you? I think that he understands it by now." Slowly, my body was turned to meet Marco's embrace. Large arms moved around the shape of my body in a comforting way. His heartbeat was comforting, his voice was real. "Look at you, Micetta. Talking to the moon while half dressed. Your skin mimics the ice in my vodka and yet you remain out here." It was his way of teasing me, usually one that brought my blood to a steady boil. "Don't blame your father dear, it's my fault. I should have taught you how a man should treat a woman. Your father would have, if he had more time I'm sure he would have devoted it to you." Carefully, his hands slipped underneath my knees and lifted me from the ground. Resting atop of his hip like a child, Head on his shoulder as I fought back more tears.
"How much did you hear?" Moving slowly, he turned towards the doorway and walked inside. Perhaps I should have been more embarrassed with the knowledge that he had been listening in, but I was far too exhausted and drunk to truly care.
"Oh, only every last word dear." A laugh left his lips, my body hitting the mattress with a swift and gentle movement. "Don't worry Elvira, I'll keep the fact that you talk to the moon our little secret. Now get some rest." The covers were pulled over my head. Once silk sheets had turned to heavy wool, no doubt Marco's doing. Had he really changed them after I complained?
"Marco?"
"Si Amore Mio?"
(Yes, My love?)
"Goodnight."
"Buonanotte e bei sogni angelo mio."
(Goodnight, and beautiful dreams my angel.)
↽———⋆♥︎⋆———⇁
Song / I'm not angry anymore - Paramore
P L E A S E R E A D
The hiatus has yet to be lifted, as I've still got final exams through the sixth of May. I have an obligation to focus on school and keep my grades maintained.
You can expect to have updates every two weeks (or more if I get a chance to write) until the hiatus is lifted.
I greatly apologize for the standstill, not only am I suffering from writers block but I've got quite a lot on my plate to attend to.
Thank all of you for giving this book the time of day. It's your commentary and enjoyment that keeps me writing.
As always, don't forget to eat and drink plenty of water.
Sincerely,
- r a e
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