#capheira

I could be yours. I could tell you that you are worth more than what the universe had made of you, that your heart nestles a million more stars than any night sky. I could tell you the story of the sun and moon, how the sun dies each night so the moon could live, and I’d say I’d be your sun. But I’m not yours that way. I’m not going to sugarcoat the hard truth by saying you mean the world to me, that you deserve the world. Because the world is bleak and cold despite the sun, and it’s too twisted for you to deserve it.

You don’t deserve the world. I’d give you Jupiter instead.

So your lonely heart would no longer feel isolated in Earth’s overwhelming population of seven billion. So the cold of the atmosphere will warm your freezing hands that tremble under the sun’s expectation of some sort of life out of you. So that you’ll never run out of nightshade with over a dozen moons overhead. So that you can rage with the raging of its storm and find an ally in that enemy.

And when they look up at the midnight blue and see Jupiter, they’ll know you were lucky that you escaped the darkness of the Earth. They’ll be jealous of your glow, but I’ll tell them it’s not about the luminosity. It’s about you planting your roots in unsoiled soil and finally being able to grow.

“Too bad it’s jut a concept,” you said, that night we climbed up the rooftop and dreamed a better reality. “But what a mighty concept it is.”

You didn’t even know it, but you had me with that tragic hope in your voice.

The world is ending, we know it, we feel it. And sadly, we got caught in life’s whirlwinds to have been able to stand up for ourselves. I know you deserve someone better than me, but maybe we’ll hold onto each other as the Earth unravels and spins out of control tonight. Under the midnight blue, gazing up at the faint glow of Jupiter.

also as an extra note this is describing physical/body dysphoria, other things such as social dysphoria (dysphoria wrt how others perceive/gender you) and indirect dysphoria (general icky feelings related to gender that you might not realize or be able to pinpoint as social or physical)

In a space divided by gravity, were two spectacles gleaming in midnight blue.

They envied each other, the two spectacles in midnight blue; they each had something the other could never have. They ached from the inside, their individual cores cracking the surface.

She was the sea; heavily grounded, ferocious yet soft. She would toss and turn in the midnight blue, with the rise of and fall of the moon. She never tried to leave, it hurt – killed everyone else to have left. And in the midnight blue, close to pitch black, she is feeble and she is left with the forces around her to battle.

The other, endlessly drifting, never landing, she could never stay. She always had trouble at her tail, being an offspring of the dark universe. She never had it in her to stay; the fire in her would burn her out, and the aftermath would burn everyone else to ash. She’d face the cold with her fiery but steely gaze, infinities in the running. In the midnight blue, the shooting star is gone in a blink of an eye.

They’d meet during the reign of the moon, when everything is at rest, and the rest is quiet. The sea moved with the southeastern winds, a subtle roaring in the air and soft thuds at the shorelines.

The shooting star dashed right on by and asked, “In a world engulfed in water, who even are you?”

The sea rippled and replied, “In a sky full of stars, who even are you?”

The universe moved around them; the winds swayed, the moon turned, the clouds drifted between them. They knew exactly who they were; she was a captive, she was a stray. Both beautiful wonder and tragic fates.

In that moment, when the shooting star disappeared into the midnight blue, the sea cried for what she had: escape. In that moment, when the sea faded from midnight blue to pitch black, the shooting star flared brighter and wished for what she had: a home.

You were you. I was I. Still, we found the correlation of those two individual ideas. We were two, but it felt like a singularity that cannot be taken away. That was what I thought.

My emotions ran deep with you; like separate rivers heading to the same waterfall. We held each other’s hand with every steep hill, and every fast decline. You gave me the meaning of a soulmate. You were my daydream about a person who I’d be both my best and worst self. It was a motion of color, no matter how dull those hues were, inside my being when I knew you were my other half, we were two birds of a feather. We would be able to take flight together: one is the wind, the other is the wing, we would interchange these roles because we had each other and we thought everything is possible like so.

We built ourselves up so high, the day you said you can leap through the cliff was incredible for the both of us; whatever good came for you, I was happy for you, and I know you’d feel the same for me. I stayed behind, watching you from behind with the grace and valiance that trailed behind you. I liked to think those were products of our foundation, of our union.

I found my strength and got up from where I was, knowing that wherever you are and wherever I am is both the same distance from where we were together, I was happy enough to know that, though individually, we have gotten somewhere better. The delving surges of our betterment would cross every now and then, and we would stop to stargaze, searching for better days and looking back at history in our stars. Because in my universe, you were my favorite constellation, the one that had the brightest stars, the image that burned in my memory.

Maybe our time was eons ago, because now our light is dim, our skies are different hues now; you seem so far away. I know I am still for you but I don’t know if you’re still for me. Perhaps I felt responsible for us, for holding the end of your trail so you know where to come back to. Maybe I just couldn’t bear to lose the other half of me. I guess the anxiety of another person turning their backs on me for good was too much.

I saw you walk along the crowd, looking reserved and preoccupied. I dared not to catch your attention. You’re seeing different galaxies light years away from the on we shared. You didn’t need to hold onto me, the way I should be with you. You didn’t need me, and I shouldn’t need you. Like a comet, I saw you fly out of my orbit. And I knew perfectly well that what I saw is a glimpse of the past; you were long gone.

Our colors have faded to distant grays and blacks, like a sunset drowning in the dark. I loved the views: our own little galaxy with the smallest bits of light, it meant that in our faults, there was still tiny bits of hope that had yet to form into greater masses. The cliff, where our fears were left, and the horizon seemed like a better place to be than just us staring down at the abyss. The headwinds, with the feeling of weightlessness and the defiance to gravity, the opposition to earthly bounds. The riverbank, where we tossed our wishes, like skipping rocks until they caught up with the current.