until

the stars have fallen

as fairy dust

and the moon is the sun

and you are dancing under

sunlight

t a n g l e d in moonlight

'til

the day bleeds into the night

'til

the night bleeds into the day

and you are blended in purples and blues

and me: in yellows and reds

'til

we are dancing under

moonlight tangled in sunlight

i will kiss you

in the closing act,

called: finally.

It was yet another sleepless night as I stared up at the ceiling in silence. My mind whirled with sentences in foreign languages, and information about our Founding Fathers. I knew then that no sleep would come to soothe my pounding head and burning eyes, but that was no different than usual; I slid out from under the thin sheets I was buried under, finding them much colder than they should have been. Quietly, I padded across my room and sat down beside the radiator that was ticking and banging, but creating a comforting warmth as I looked up and out at the darkened sky outside. I started to think about how worthless my troubles were, and how that one day millions of years from now my stress, and my hard work would all have been for nothing. I started to think about why all this worthless struggle had any meaning at all, and almost like the lights of a car piercing the night air, I finally realized.

I was created out of the same dust, and debris that created the stars, the moon, and the planets. I was created out of the same materials as the universe itself. I breathe the same air as the trees, and the hibernating squirrels, and the birds that sing outside my window at four o’clock in the morning. The universe is the most important creation that has ever been; it was the creation that created all other creation. Without it, nothing would be here; we wouldn’t be here. I started to realize that since we are a part of such an important piece of creation, we must be important too. What would the universe be without the creation it brought with it? I am a part of something much bigger, much more important than anything else that could ever exist. I am part of the universe; we are made of the universe. If that doesn’t make us significant, I don’t know what will.

There are so many people that see humans as being above nature, beyond nature’s laws. If they would take the time to look out their windows and think about the world, they would realize that we aren’t above nature, we are what defines nature. If one believes in such things, we were once something else. Humans were primates, and before that we were reptiles, and if we could trace our heritage back billions of years, we would find ourselves to be plants. We were the basis of what nature developed from. We are the product of development, and evolution, and without us there wouldn’t be anything we have today. The universe would not contain the assets of creation it brought with it. I am a pawn, a key piece in the game of evolution, of development. I am continuing the process of change, and so is everyone else in this universe. We are all products and agents of change, whether we desire to be or not. Each and every one of us are important to the cause of change; without diversity, we would forever be humans, identical, and unchanging. We have grown from plants to insects, from insects to reptiles, and so on, and now we’re part of a new adventure; a new revolution that may take billions of years to complete.

As I sit under the window near the comforting warmth of the radiator, I finally saw why my struggles, and fears were no longer worthless. I am creating a story, a special story that will never be recreated. I am leaving my own unique mark on the universe because I am a part of it. I am made of it. We are changing the universe by making mistakes, and taking chances, and shedding tears, and laughing until we wet ourselves. Each struggle changes the universe because we are the universe. Call me a Modern-Transcendentalist, but if this gives me hope, then it might provide the same feeling for someone else. We are made of the same dust as the Earth, and if one person changes…doesn’t that mean they changed the world? If that’s not something worth living for, I don’t know what is.

There are days,

then there are days.

Eyes open

but the body refuses to move.

A sigh, a gasp of air,

a twisting lurch reminding me of years past.

Years spent in celebration, parting like a crazed person.

Not even close to moments like now.

Either on the bed or on a chair,

I think sometimes I’ve lived too long.

As the first few minutes pass,

so too, does the thought.

I haven’t lived long enough.

Monsters hiding the closet

Monsters underneath the bed

Monsters crawling out of the faucet

Monsters screaming in my head

Monsters with tails and an eye

Monsters with a crooked smile

Monsters that make the kiddies cry

Monsters wreaking havoc per mile

Monsters exist all around

Monsters can be real or fake

Monsters appear to you without sound

Monsters are the beings we make

#poetry #short #micropoem #monsters

He reminded you of a mayfly, always living for the moment, as though it could all fade away in the blink of an eye. You were not quite so carefree, but whenever he looked at you with those glinting, mischievous eyes, you questioned whether anything in the world could ever be so right. Your story could have lasted ten seconds, minutes, months, or years, but you can only describe them as moments.

Ten. He's leading you somewhere. You feel the beauty of the nature surrounding you, the leaves crunching under your foot, the birds chirping, perched up in the tall trees. You hike uphill; he gets there before you do, but turns around and grins at you, outstreching his hand. You smile, take it, and pull yourself up. You open your mouth to say something, but immediately forget what it was. The world never ceases to amaze you, and especially not now; the hills are covered in flowers of red, orange, yellow, and pink, becoming almost iridescent under the sun's golden rays. You can feel his eyes trained on you, and your smile only broadens as you gaze back at him and lean in.

Nine. All you see is purple, purple, purple. It surrounds you, as though coming towards you in silky waves. You cheer along with everyone else, then stand and throw your cap in the air, not caring where it lands, but looking around to find him. He's clapping along, but he only has eyes for you, and you can feel your lips turn up into a proud grin. He mouths those three words, and you feel your eyes filling with tears as you mouth them back.

Eight. You never now how he finds these places, these secluded parts of the world that only he seems to be aware of. You lie next to him in a meadow of daisies, closing your eyes as the sun beams down on your face, and opening them to see him twirling a lock of your crimson hair around his finger lazily. He is made of smiles and laughs and bold declarations; he reminds you of fire and wind and the ocean. You rest your hand on his shoulder, and he looks down at you with that charming grin of his. You grin back, lay your head on his chest again, and close your eyes. All you can think is, perfect.

Seven. You work tirelessly and compliantly, loving every second of it. He supports you, he always has, and he works just as hard. Sometimes he comes home only minutes before you need to wake up, and sometimes you arrive just as he's about to sleep. Your schedules conflict, but he assures you that it's the little moments that matter. You spend every spare minute you can with one another, but it's not enough, at least not for you. He always says that one moment can last a lifetime, but all you can think is that you miss him.

Six. He returns after being gone for two whole days, and that is when you let it out. You can't stand it, you know he has to work, but you need him, and can't he understand that? He comforts you and murmurs apologies and promises that it won't be like this forever, and finally, you know it's the truth, because he lives for the moment, and this one is certainly not pleasant. You exhale deeply, sigh, and nod. Then, without another word, you crawl back under your covers. As you feel the bed dip under his weight, all you can think is that it wasn't supposed to be like this.

Five. You try harder, both of you, to prevail under the circumstances. You visit his office and are greeted by his welcoming lips. He brings you pastries from your favorite bakery, and you eat them together, enjoying each other's company, even if only for thirty minutes. He lives for the moment, and he makes the smallest ones last forever. You take a bite out of your pastry, and all you can think is, you're making it work. That's enough to put you at ease.

Four. You visit your mother for an afternoon tea every Sunday, and every Sunday, as you take a sip from your steaming cup of tea, she does the same routine. She insists that he is perfect, and you are perfect, and together, you practically ooze with perfection. You smile and agree; he is perfect, and together, you feel perfect. She asks if you are happy, if you feel right, and you can only beam and nod. You take another sip of your tea, disregarding the burning heat on your tongue, and all you can think is that this is what happiness must feel like.

Three. He brings you to dinner with his parents. You've met them before, but it always gives you a bit of a shock to see how closely he resembles them. You notice little fragments of him in them; his father's strong jaw, his mother's bright eyes, the tall height that both of them had passed down. They treat you like their own daughter, and his mother's knowing gaze does not go unnoticed by you. You look at him, and he blushes slightly, shooting a pointed look toward his mother. His father chuckles, and all you can think is, home.

Two. You stand on a rooftop, looking down at the city below you, the streetlights twinkling like stars. He hugs you from behind and you lean into him slightly before pulling away and turning around. He takes something from his coat pocket, and before you even realize what he's doing, he gets down on one knee and says those four words, the ones you knew only he was ever meant to say. You laugh and nod, and as he slides the ring on your finger, all you can think is that no moment has ever been more eternal than this one.

One. You return to that forest trail, the one you hiked with him eternities earlier. A small hand curls around yours, and you look at your daughter, smile at her, and help her up to the edge of the cliff. You see her eyes become alight with childlike wonder, and she lets go of your hand, stepping forward, completely entranced. You feel another hand in yours, intertwining your fingers, but you don't need to turn around to know who it is. You lean into him, feeling your lips curve up, and all you can think is, life is beautiful.

He reminded you of a mayfly, always living for the moment, as though it could fade away in ten seconds. You could not help but succumb to his carefree, spontaneous lifestyle, because whenever you looked into those millenia-old, gleaming eyes, you knew without a doubt, that nothing in the world could ever be as right as this mayfly. Life goes on. Moments last. You endure, together.

When the Lady Arlene asked me to take a letter to the Crown Prince of Darland, I thought it would be a simple task.

Granted, she did keep her apartment in the tallest tower of the castle on the highest peak in the land, and his father’s palace was at the base of the distant hills. What I hadn’t counted on was his immediate reply, which required an answer from her post-haste.

That was three days ago.

I spurred my horse - the fourth I had exhausted since this debacle began - to even greater speed. I had to get this latest dispatch to the Lady with all haste; the Prince was waiting anxiously on her reply to his new communique, which was safely tucked in my saddlebag. It read:

“I don’t know. What do YOU want to do after we meet for dinner?”

© 2018 - dustygrein

#flash #flashfiction #makemesmile #amwriting

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