This is a piece depicting how wrongly the society have viewed those we unkindly label as gay or lesbians. They love one another, despite the severe differences (or similarities, if you see in it that way) that they face, and for that alone, they ought to be accepted. For is it a sin to love despite all obstacles, or to hate those who love? The answer, my dear readers, you can find in your heart.
Heaven Can Wait
Because love is not dead, it's just found in different places...
Night, has draped her starry blanket over the world, twinkling in a way the bright, glorious sun can never compare, sparkling as if what happened on earth made them blink, once in confusion, twice in shyness, and thrice touched.
It was not called the 'unholy hour' for no reason.
The moon smiled, as motherly as can be, showering her warm caress upon lovers in the park, smiling as though she too understood the pure blissfulness of love, the inane excitement that has one gripping with desire… or is it lust? Truth be told, there wasn't much difference in those two.
Mother Moon sighed, her sad gaze lingered upon the gasping, sinful pair, leaving them in darkness for their deeds were not to be shown in light, taking with her, the stars, her children. Do not stare, she admonished, it is rude. The stars, ashamed, covered their eyes, once in a while peeking when their mother wasn't looking, staring with curiosity at the pair, only to turn away when their mother's harsh voice flooded their ears.
It is rude, they whispered, rude to stare at the mortals below, rude to see what they do when the darkness falls.
The wind sighed, smiling at the naivety of the starlings, smiling as she travelled the night, her favourite time, for there wasn't any rude pollutants that screamed at her, causing her to choke and sputter. The night was to Wind, as fresh water was to fish, where she could sing freely, and dance her best friend, the Clouds, pulling thin veils upon the slightly annoyed, yet amused Mother Moon.
Look! A starling cried, twinkling her faint light into a wayward cottage, so far it was from the city, that even the trees look healthier.
Hush, her fellow stars cried, hush for it is rude, hush before you bring Mother's rage upon us, hush sister, hush!
Startled into silence, the starling gazed with wide eyes, shedding her full light upon the hidden cottage, bright enough to startle its occupants, bright enough to bring them, stumbling into the garden, so well kept, yet so dainty.
What's this? Mother Moon asked, scaring the starlings into hiding behind their big brother the Cloud, all except one, the one who brought the attention upon the cottage. But despite her fear of breaking rules, she was a curious little thing, who had, at her Mother's question, hastily leapt up and started explaining, with such fervour, about the cottage and the occupants.
Mother Moon gazed upon said cottage with a maternal eye, and smiled a smile that had long since vanished, smiled a smile that brought the hiding starlings out in shame, smiled a smile that the little starling gazed with wonder.
Why was she smiling?
A single word, soft, whispering, like a murmur of a distant brook, escaped the lips of the youth as said youth nodded his head towards the heavens. His misty grey irises sparkled in the unnatural brightness of the midnight sketch, sparkled as if they were starlings of their own.
"Aren't they beautiful?"
His companion nodded, smiling, without a word, gazing at the sky with wonder. It was like magic, the way the stars dotted the sky, some veiled by the clouds, some hiding in a far corner, decorating the space around the Queen of them all: the Moon, who never looked any more beautiful than she did that night.
"It is, indeed, magical…"
Silver eyes turned to gaze at his companion, posed against the starry night, posed against the eternal darkness, like a fallen angel, fallen, yet still complete. And, he noted wryly, the stars that outlined his companion's back, if one drew a line across them, a pair of wings can be formed.
This was truly, a magnificent night. That, or his imagination decided to take a holiday in down south.
"Yes." He murmured, hardly thinking. "Truly, magical."
A pale hand reached up and brushed across the face, with skin as pale as porcelain, and features that looked as though they have been sculptured by the most famous of all sculptures in Greece, more breath-taking than the Goddess Aphrodite herself, but with the glory of the God Apollo and the elegance of his twin sister the Goddess Artemis.
Eyes the colour of the Artic Ocean greeted him as the head turned, ever so slowly, to gaze at him. At first, he was afraid he had disturbed his precious lover, and said lover was angry with him. But his fear was quickly dismissed, as lips that never frown nor smile for anyone, curl upwards for him and him alone.
"Do you think they came here to mock us?"
The smiling lips asked, startling him out of his reverie of labelling his beloved with every god and goddess he could remember. Confused, he tilted his head slightly, coaxing a laugh from his companion.
"The stars, the heavens… do you think… that perhaps… they have come to mock us?"
This time however, sadness was apparent in those eyes that seldom spoke. He longed so much to take that face and kiss it and tell it that everything was alright, that as long as they had each other, the world doesn't care. But reality spoke in volumes much louder than the simple word called love.
Because love doesn't speak, it sings and dance its way into peoples' hearts, and it shall remain there, sometimes dancing on shards of glass, and sometimes twirling in endless fields.
"No…" He murmured, cupping the sad face in his hands. "No… how can they hate something so beautiful?" His companion, much to his dismay, turned away, eyes glistening with unshed tears, that will never fall.
"Beautiful?" The tone was harsh. "The world mock us, and in its hypocrisy tries to stamp us out. To them, we are nothing but the worse of the worst. The unwanted. The… freaks." The flinch was unmistakable.
The night was silent, not even the wind whispered, and a shuddering breath could be heard as a tongue snaked out to wet the lips in anticipation to continue.
"No… Love is not dead… I know it… you know it… if the world is so blind, so be it. Love is not dead, it's just found in different forms. I am a lucky man, you know. I have found one of the most elusive of the world's wonders, and I am looking at Love right now." He gestured, circling his arms wide, as if trying to describe how much the man before him meant.
There were some words that needn't be said.
"Trust you to ruin a romantic moment." He smiled, placing a pale finger upon his lover's lips, brushing wavy dark locks away from silver irises, startling slightly as the other took his hand and pulled him close.
And lying side by side, they slept, under the watchful gaze of the heavens, they slept. For none could accept them in life and so together, they travelled, far, far away, where they could finally be accepted, in their hearts.
Mother Moon smiled, a sad smile, as the ghost of the past drifted away, happy in the arms of love. She knows of them, for she had seen them dance the silent waltz many times. They aren't the only ones, for Love has touched many in more ways than one, and those who were truly touched by Love, shall dance in Mother Moon's court forever more, for the path could only be seen, by those pure of heart.
The silent breeze caress the night,
Unaware, uncaring of blight;
Set a court of endless dancers,
With each step, the questions answered.
Sun watches, an impassive eye,
Day ignores the silent goodbyes;
Moon smiles, she, a caring mother,
She knows tenderness unlike other.
A single petal, wilted rose,
Unimportant, thy hearts have closed;
A rusty leaf upon the sill,
Empty homes often have their chill.
But the dead dances Time away,
They twirl the night and hide the day;
Forever young, love is not dead,
Death is an art, heaven can wait.
The dawn approaches, the starlings cry, awakening Mother Moon from her reverie. A bright, golden beam snatches away the last traces of the misty moonlight, crawling slowly into the homes of cities and towns, creeping across meadows and fields, spreading into the cottage, no longer myth-like and serene, but worn down and broken, covering the entwined bodies, no longer beautiful and calm, but were grey, like ashes, and like ashes, were blown into the wind, ready to start their endless drifting, until Mother Moon summons them with her midnight cloak.
For love is not dead, it is only found in places so different and so unique, then sometimes, it takes a different person with distinct views to actually find their piece of paradise on earth.
Heaven can wait.
To review, critique or flame, is your choice, as it is the human's choice to love another human. If you wish to review or critic, rest assured a 'Thank you' note will be sent in reply. Should you wish to inform me of your hypocritical views regarding this gender business, I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself. If you don't speak, no one will accuse you of being dumb. Should you still persist on bombarding me with your inane ideas, I advise you to prepare yourself for a full, onslaught lecture on why you are wasting my time and energy, and you shall pay for that.
On the brighter note, thank you for taking time to read this.