Moon and Sea
Day 1
You were distinctly awake for the first time years. You’d hauled yourself across the country -mostly down the coast at that moment, you hadn’t really gotten to the cross country part of your trip yet. Armed with three notebooks, two sketchbooks, and polaroid, kodak & phone cameras alike, you’d set off into the wild americana with her in a stuffed minivan fit for a soccer mom. She sits in the driver's seat next to you. Eyes fixed on the road and mouthing along to the radio. You’d like to write some poetry.
Day 3
It was 11:11, and you were about 99% sure the beach was closed, and as a “good kid” who’d really never intentionally broken the law you were a little more than unnerved by this fact. There was a breezy chill in the air, even as you wrapped yourself in a thick towel and sat on the beach waiting for her.
You drew words in the sand, erasing and starting over again and again. You'd like to write poetry but the words don't quite work yet. You look up and down the beach, towards the sea where she stands in the shallows. Blink and you'll miss it, but something darker than the black see moves around her. It's not the first time you'd seen it either, you remember how it followed her in high school, in the wings, backstage between her numbers in the spotlight. You blink and you miss it. From further down strip you could see flashlights heading your way. You begin to call her in only to find yourself quickly sprinting up the beach back to your parked car dragged by a very wet and very amused friend. The flashlights attempt to catch up, and your tires peal as you drive off. 5 minutes later you’re both laughing wildly. She laughed like seafoam, and whenever she spoke your name you swore you could hear the tide come in.
Day 5
She was beautiful in every way you were not, where hair fell in dark liquid swaths, yours had been dyed too many times and curled around your ears in a messy bundle. She drives while silently whispering along to the music and nodding her head. Outside you pass an ocean of wheat in a field of clouds. When it turns dark and your only light is the moon above, you attempt to write poetry,
If She were the Moon,
All the stars would fall for her,
And I would drown,
You crumple up the paper and toss it out the window. She scolds you for littering.
Day 8
The city was bright with lime, gold and aqua neon. It was 2am and she was blasting the music from the car speakers, you had never heard any of the songs and you weren’t really sure they were in english, or any earthly dialect. Her eyes sparkled with a kind of mischief, and in the ever changing lighting you could’ve sworn right then and there she couldn’t be human. You park at an abandoned theater downtown, lit by orange streetlights and the distant glow of buildings. You explore the rotting inside using the light of your phones. She climbs in walls and rafters in a way she shouldn't be able to. She darts in and out of shadows like she was born for it and laughs and she catches stray lights falling from the broken ceiling. You attempt to write poetry until she appears behind you, suddenly and without any sound. You try to hide it but she's already seen it, and she laughs, softer this time. She sits beside you, closer than you're used to, in the skeleton of what was once a place brighter than you both. It's hard to breathe when she places her hand on yours.
Day 10
The desert is open and quiet and empty, and there is only the moon above You're driving, and the world is all but black save the dashboard lights. You attempt to see past your headlights and are met with the void. Beside you, She is asleep in the passenger seat, curled up into herself. You lose your breath whenever you look at her, so you focus on the road, or at least what you can see of it. As time passes your eyes adjust. Every now and again you could swear you saw something out in the emptiness around you, a quick flicker of something, a reflective eye maybe, a figure running in the desert, getting closer than you'd like. The desert looks like an ocean. You attempt to think of poetry.
If you were the Sea she was the Moon, and you would follow her anywhere.
© Isabella Hansen. All Rights Reserved.
You were distinctly awake for the first time years. You’d hauled yourself across the country -mostly down the coast at that moment, you hadn’t really gotten to the cross country part of your trip yet. Armed with three notebooks, two sketchbooks, and polaroid, kodak & phone cameras alike, you’d set off into the wild americana with her in a stuffed minivan fit for a soccer mom. She sits in the driver's seat next to you. Eyes fixed on the road and mouthing along to the radio. You’d like to write some poetry.
Day 3
It was 11:11, and you were about 99% sure the beach was closed, and as a “good kid” who’d really never intentionally broken the law you were a little more than unnerved by this fact. There was a breezy chill in the air, even as you wrapped yourself in a thick towel and sat on the beach waiting for her.
You drew words in the sand, erasing and starting over again and again. You'd like to write poetry but the words don't quite work yet. You look up and down the beach, towards the sea where she stands in the shallows. Blink and you'll miss it, but something darker than the black see moves around her. It's not the first time you'd seen it either, you remember how it followed her in high school, in the wings, backstage between her numbers in the spotlight. You blink and you miss it. From further down strip you could see flashlights heading your way. You begin to call her in only to find yourself quickly sprinting up the beach back to your parked car dragged by a very wet and very amused friend. The flashlights attempt to catch up, and your tires peal as you drive off. 5 minutes later you’re both laughing wildly. She laughed like seafoam, and whenever she spoke your name you swore you could hear the tide come in.
Day 5
She was beautiful in every way you were not, where hair fell in dark liquid swaths, yours had been dyed too many times and curled around your ears in a messy bundle. She drives while silently whispering along to the music and nodding her head. Outside you pass an ocean of wheat in a field of clouds. When it turns dark and your only light is the moon above, you attempt to write poetry,
If She were the Moon,
All the stars would fall for her,
And I would drown,
You crumple up the paper and toss it out the window. She scolds you for littering.
Day 8
The city was bright with lime, gold and aqua neon. It was 2am and she was blasting the music from the car speakers, you had never heard any of the songs and you weren’t really sure they were in english, or any earthly dialect. Her eyes sparkled with a kind of mischief, and in the ever changing lighting you could’ve sworn right then and there she couldn’t be human. You park at an abandoned theater downtown, lit by orange streetlights and the distant glow of buildings. You explore the rotting inside using the light of your phones. She climbs in walls and rafters in a way she shouldn't be able to. She darts in and out of shadows like she was born for it and laughs and she catches stray lights falling from the broken ceiling. You attempt to write poetry until she appears behind you, suddenly and without any sound. You try to hide it but she's already seen it, and she laughs, softer this time. She sits beside you, closer than you're used to, in the skeleton of what was once a place brighter than you both. It's hard to breathe when she places her hand on yours.
Day 10
The desert is open and quiet and empty, and there is only the moon above You're driving, and the world is all but black save the dashboard lights. You attempt to see past your headlights and are met with the void. Beside you, She is asleep in the passenger seat, curled up into herself. You lose your breath whenever you look at her, so you focus on the road, or at least what you can see of it. As time passes your eyes adjust. Every now and again you could swear you saw something out in the emptiness around you, a quick flicker of something, a reflective eye maybe, a figure running in the desert, getting closer than you'd like. The desert looks like an ocean. You attempt to think of poetry.
If you were the Sea she was the Moon, and you would follow her anywhere.
© Isabella Hansen. All Rights Reserved.