Is There Somewhere You Can Meet Me?

A/N: Week 11 of 52 short stories per week. This week, a story set at a full moon. 


“You were dancing in your tube socks in our hotel room, flashing those eyes like highway signs. Light one up and hand it over, rest your head upon my shoulder. I just wanna feel your lips against my skin.”


To the supernatural, full moons usually brought the howling of wolves, the magic of witches and the songs of elves. To others, full moons were a religious occasion. Some believed in superstitions and preferred to stay indoors on such nights. For her, a full moon meant hope. It meant love and peace. It meant she got to see him.

He was like a star, shining brightly in a sea of darkness. He was larger than life, yet so down to earth. He’d been her everything. She’d been his everything. And then the worst happened. Now, she can only see him whenever there’s a full moon.


“White sheets, bright lights, crooked teeth, and the night life, you told me this is right where it begins. But your lips hang heavy underneath me. And I promised myself I wouldn’t let you complete me.”


The full moon had always been special to them, it had been a sign that they would always find each other, always be together. And when he passed, that didn’t change. She of the living and he of the dead would meet where their two worlds met, where the line between life and death touched fleetingly, at the sea’s shores, under a midnight black sky, with the ghostly light of the moon shining down on them.


“I’m trying not to let it show, that I don’t want to let this go. Is there somewhere you can meet me? ‘Cause I clutched your arms like stairway railings and you clutched my brain and eased my ailing.”


She longed to be with him, to leave her pitiful life and stay, stay under the moon, in the sea, with him. That wasn’t an option though. He wanted her to live. He wanted her to have a life.

So, on the next full night, he didn’t go. He didn’t go to his beloved, where life and death met. He turned away and welcomed death, walking forwards, towards the light, towards salvation. It was for her, it was all for her, everything. He was letting her go, setting her free. He wanted her to be happy and he was holding her back. It wasn’t healthy.

He didn’t think she’d follow him into the moonlight.

“I’m sorry but I fell in love tonight,” she whispered against his lips, his hands on her hips, her legs around his waist, “I didn’t mean to fall in love tonight.”

“You’re looking like you fell in love tonight,” he whispered back, smiling softly.

“I did,” she said, tears in her eyes, as his form began to dissolve.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice echoing as he faded into the light. And no matter how much she wanted to follow, there is no place for the living among the dead.

But she would return to the end of her days, to the seashore, under the moonlight. She could no longer see him. But he could see her. Even when she was old, accomplished, married and on her deathbed, he could see her, the woman he loved and let go.

He could see her turning away from him.

And the moon no longer shined kindly upon him.

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