March 2021: Borrowed Time - Anna McEvoy

The sun drops and the peak hour rush is on. I have to get home first. I haven’t been there for you recently—my work takes me away from you—but I hope to make it up to you tonight. I catch my reflection in the window of the train as we cruise above the heavy traffic, the red lights of slow-moving cars like a gaping wound through the city. I smile at my fellow commuters, but they’re too absorbed in their devices to notice. You, on the other hand, are the type of person who would be looking up, taking in the world around you, and the sky above. Or at least, you were.

The truth is, I’m worried about you. You used to tell me your secrets, sharing your hopes and dreams with me in elaborate detail, but since moving to the city we don’t see each other as often. Your new job is draining you. Some days you barely look at me. Still, I’ll never turn my back on you. I want to tell you not to give up on your dreams. I’m no stranger to dark days, but I always come around, and you will too.

I let myself into the apartment and position myself, just so, in the window. The soft light of dusk adds a flattering glow to my complexion. You once called me a ‘classic beauty’ but there’s a lot to be said for angles and lighting. Your key turns in the lock and I freeze as you open the front door. Will you shut me out? Instead, you run to me, fling your arms wide and beam up at me.

How can I be called the moon when you’re the one who shines so bright? My light is borrowed but you’re lit from within. How do you do that?! You make the stars shine brighter. They told me so.

A band of cloud obscures my view until I huff loudly and it scurries away, mumbling apologies. The stars giggle behind me and if I could I’d blush. Finally, the big stars shush the smaller ones and they cease their incessant twinkling.

I pause for as long as I can in your window, on borrowed time. The tides can wait, for tonight I am your moon, not the moon.

Right Left Write’s March prompt was From the Sky.