Moonlight, in a certain way, isn't light. It's some kind of mysterious, silver shine, sharpening all contours, stressing every form.
I am watching you. You're asleep; from time to time, your eyelids flutter, and, caught in your dream, your eyes gaze blindly into the night. Your hair, caressed by moonlight, is shining in the brightest white, flooding over the pillow, onto the mattress and down towards the floor.
I know she is in front of the door. She is observing us through the lock as I silently press my lips to your forehead; don't wake up. She is out there, the regent over plants; but we are the cats, and anytime we could escape into darkness.
Plants growing at night are the scariest ones. Plants nurtured by moonlight are dangerous; if you eat them, the light will flood your veins and poison you. The silver glow conserves beauty forever; it strokes your skin; it intensifies orgasm. But you must not drink it. Moonlight is cold as fluid metal; it ices you up from the inside.
I've known you for so long now, and still I love you. So many things we've got in common, so much separates us. But we've come to know each other, each nerve and each wish. I can read your dreams from your lips; even they are contoured more sharply. Moonlight is my rival in the fight for your love and my ally, and I'd fight on every single day if it were necessary.
You and I, we are the only ones left who could drink moonlight. I wish you would not.
I have found a way to be near you. I know it should be considered wrong, observing you; but the lock is the only thing still open to me since you shut the door into my face. In my dreams, I am lying on the bed. I can feel your weight on my belly and hers; I can feel your movement. You fail to notice me.
I want to cry. When you both are sleeping quietly, I run through the streets until my legs give way. I am breathing too hard, and deep in my lungs, the cold air causes a wild, burning pain like salt in a fresh wound. Words, tumbling helplessly from my tongue, get stuck in my throat when I wish to speak them. I am waiting. I am drinking silver light that falls from the sky, and still I wait. After a while, I find myself returning. I squat down in front of your door.
Don't wake up. You have no rivals in this world. As you lean back in my lap, moonlight kisses your pale lips. The night is ours. That shining silver just increases your beauty. Your hair is falling between my legs, is covering my thighs. Your eyelids flutter again, and for a heartbeat, I find you staring out into space.
I love you.
I am not sleeping. I am not eating. I live by moonlight running through my veins where it replaces my blood heartbeat after heartbeat. My dreams are running wild; they bear a hard edge I wished not to know. Under my hands, the plants are shaking. I lost their language. Maybe I forgot it. Moonlight intensifies my orgasm; alone, my body cruelly twitching, I lie on the entrance stairs. You will not recognize me here. I want to die. Some shapeless glow fills my veins. I cannot sense anything besides it.
You'll forget me.
I am running to keep up the growing distance. I am only at the corner when my knees give way and I am falling again. From somewhere afar I can hear your laughter, your words. The syllables bear a hard sound as if you were speaking Japanese. I cannot understand you. I drink moonlight flowing from heaven, and slowly, snow starts falling around me.
I have drunk the last moonlight. In my still warm palm, the snowflakes melt miraculously fast; small, icy structures awoken to life. For you and for her, there is no danger left. I can feel your weight upon me.
The wind has left blades of cold cutting my lungs; breathlessly coughing, I am lying on the road. The cold is cuddling up to me, slowly covering me. From the inside out, somewhere from my veins' icy glow, it is melted to a scorching heat.
I am crying. Finally, with all silver, the bleeding sharp heat, all pain escapes through my voice. I am crying, and the glowing white snow is the only one reacting in gentle whispers. I can feel your movement. I am coughing. I am breathing. I am not speaking; I am not sleeping. I want to curse you. But I am waiting.
Soon the night will be over. It's gone cold in here.
Don't wake up when I have to put your head back on the pillows; when your shining hair has to let go of my skin for a few heartbeats.
The moonlight has intensified. It embraces me on my way to the open window; it caresses my naked skin just as yours. You'll get drunk if you look at the moon for too long. For a moment I keep standing at the window after I close it. It is snowing. How the flakes are whirling, dancing just brighter, clearer; their contours sharpened by light like midget blades. Some hit the window, stick like crystals to the glass, and I want to wipe them away.
At the end of the street, somebody is lying half covered in snow. I can't fetch her from there. I don't want to. She's there because of the moonlight. She has left from our doorstep. She won't keep looking through the lock. Now that the moonlight is not hers anymore, I will be able to concentrate on you again. Don't wake up.
The figure doesn't move, and the puddles of snow are only growing around her, flecks of blood in them. Soon she'll be dead. Soon I'll have time only for you again.
She is screaming. God; she is screaming. Don't wake up, please don't wake up. I stagger back to the bed where you're lying between the blankets; you cuddle up to me as I sit down beside you. I try to focus solely on your face, on the glow in your hair as, slowly, the screams ebb away and stop.
If you knew I've seen someone die.
I can't sleep.