[Sunsets over Moonlight]

Hello.
 
I cannot seem to remember who I am.
Where I am.
What I am.

Pardon me, I do not wish to impose this upon you but,

I don't know who I am.
 
All I know is that the Sunsets over Moonlight.ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

[Sunsets over Moonlight]

One year ago, I woke up and couldn't remember anything.

 

Every day I am alive is beautiful.
Every minute precious.
Every second breathtaking.
 
I do not know who I was but, I am learning who I am and who I will become. The act of drawing breath fills my lungs with indescribable determination. Eating, sleeping, waking, repeating, the mere act of primitive survival made so fulfilling with all else in between. Ideas of:
love,
hatred,
regret,
sorrow,
comfort.
 
I want to cry and be held.
Scream and get red.
Embrace until my spine cracks.
Comfort until my arms fall off.
 
I want to feel the sands fire beneath my feet,
the river's chilling caress.
I want to watch the sun set with someone
and feel the moonlight the very same day.
I want to hear music and dance,
I want to try and fail.
I want to try and fail.
I want to try and fail.
I want to try and fail.
 
I want to get lost and be found.
I want to eat something I hate.
I want my tears wiped away.
I want to enjoy every face of life because
 
Living is so beautiful.
 
I want to connect with as many people as possible so that no one will ever forget that
the Sunsets over Moonlightॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

[Sunsets over Moonlight]

Three years ago, I woke up unable to remember anything before.
 
Failure stings. Getting up is exhausting.
It is a part of living.
Unmet expectations hurt.
It is a part of living.
Learning is overwhelming.
It is a part of living.
 
For as much beauty living has, it is equally as cruel.
The breaths I draw harkened a cold, unforgiving winter. 
A cycle I thought I would not wrest myself from.
I waited, begging for spring to come back with all the things I thought made living beautiful.
Instead, it is cruel.
I am hurt.
I am weak.
I am living.
Not existing, but navigating with purpose.
 
Living is lonely.
When it's lonely, it starts to feel like survival.
I want to share my sorrows.
I want to share my pain.
I want to share my joys.
I want to share my laughter.
 
Living is cruel but I never, ever want to stop.

 ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

 
sit with me under the
sunsets or moonlight?

[Sunsets over Moonlight]

. . .
 
Twelve years have passed.

Their study desk is full of them, scrap papers of half-baked ideas that they cannot see to throw away.
They will flourish or perish.

 . . .
 

a canary came to my window
its song lovely and true.
i watched it, it watched me.
its feathers gorgeous in day's light.
 
a raven came to my window.
its beck red,
yellow feathers at its talons
underneath the moon's light.
 

i am confident that i am not confident.

i know my bones are weak,

muscles small,

magic thin.

 
i keep looking in the mirror
wondering if the colors are real.
maybe my skin is actually green,
the sun purple,
moon black.
perception; we cannot trust 
what we hear or see. 
 

i wish i made him smile.

from the bottom of my heart 

into the crevices of my soul.

i want to make him proud.

 
there's something i can't remember.
i make up the details and pretend they are true.
stories with characters with feelings i subscribe to them.
is anything i do real?
 

i used to like summer.

i still do.

i cannot help it.

 
i feel like i'm on fire.
it's in my throat-
my skin so red it feels.
i see the muscle
layer by layer
ridding myself of this shell that
hides it so.
 

there's a dead canary outside my window.

one wing stiff and around its body

the other limp and it pieces.

there's a dead canary outside my window.

it's been two days and i cannot 

find the heart to move it.

there's a dead canary outside my window.

is it my fault?

should i have kept the window open?

 
if i had a mother,
would i know how to cook?
if i had a father,
would i expect better?
if i have a sibling,
would i never feel alone?
if i had an uncle,
would i know pampering?
if i had an aunt,
would i hold many secrets?
if i had a family,
what would i be like?
 

she's standing in the corner behind a wire screen.

i cannot see her,

but i know she is.

i feel her eyes, following me.

i cannot close the door, she'll still see me.

at least i think i can see her.

this heat behind my back is nothing.

look forward,

out the door.

 
i cannot get rid of it.
it's always there.
never acting.
strike, if you will.
the anticipate rattles by being.
i cannot move.
 

i see you in fragments.

i cannot miss you.

i cannot mourn you.

but i see you, whoever you once were.

an eternity has passed.
as if i lived and died then came back.
twelve of them,
twelve years.
thousands of days-
i want to remember every hour,
down to the minute,
the second.
every heart beat,
every thought.
i never want to forget.
 

so sweet, 

a terrible treat i return to.

or i am told it's terrible.

every bite melts my insides,

my worries gone as if they never came.

 
the sunsets over moonlight.  ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

[Sunsets over Moonlight]

    no one no        one      no         one noone no            one         no             one     none     no one

. . .
there's a poem no one will ever see,
its pages lit with moonlight
sitting there ever since the sun set.

brewing for eighteen years.

eighteen, since life began,

eighteen years and there's...

. . .

no one at my front
or my side
no one behind me.
i'm searching
it feels aimless
how i look from side to side
desperate.
where did they all go?
or did i imagine they were there in the first place?
does She test me with 
grand illusions that i believed to be real?
it was real,
but it's gone.
whatever i leaned on when nothing else was there.
bitter, the taste in my mouth
or is it copper
clinging to my throat.
all i see is red,
and you aren't there
to clear my vision.
diamonds in the river,
the rough
held so dearly in my hands.
they're cut
from those unrefined edges.
where did it go?
they were just in my hands.
i see the red it left,
the delicate etches
that runs along those
natural folds.
was this always meant to be?
or was no one there to begin with?

why is it so hard
for people to look at me?
no one has ever looked at me
except those diamonds
in the rough.
i found it and it me.
maybe they never,
and i was never found.
will anyone look for me
if i'm no longer here?
will anyone notice?
maybe not
 

because no one was ever there,
i was never there.
why were you never there?

[Sunsets over Moonlight]

. . .
Twenty years and I feel no different.
Perhaps I am much the same, and no time has passed at all.
. . .
 

I've taken into consideration why I do the things I do.
Duty and obligation.
What are my duties?
Again to this question of place in the world.
Twenty years and what is my place?
Twenty years and I feel no different.
I am trying to write the story that'll be the pinnacle of my career-
or perhaps I already have and
already am I sinking into
the obscurity I feared so much.
It feels so good to kill the sun.
Living is killing the sun.
Even though killing the sun scares me.
I worry-
about a lot of things.
Unveiled from the shadows
and shining a light onto something I want unseen.
My world, my thoughts, my abilities.
At some point,
everyone will come to the realization
that there is nothing special
about what I write.
I want so much to see what others tell me they see.
But I am no one's day,
no sun in the sky
or warm light.
 

I want to write what it's like
even if I feel incapable
inadequate
to tell the story I want to tell.
I am thinking so hard
maybe I should stop
cease the polish
let it be as...

 Twenty years and I still don't know who I am.

I think the sun still sets over moonlight.

[Sunsets over Moonlight]

. . .

The following letter can be found at the resting place of the True Giant on Mount Pavonis. Unfolded, the letter is surrounded by four flowers whilst in a sea of many: marignolia, azilaena, saniskriti, and perdegrine. It is easy for it to get utterly lost. The statue itself seems to have been cleaned of any dirt it's sustained over the months and turn of the new year since its creation.
. . .

Dear Jokul,
 
Twenty-five autumns ago, I was sitting on a bench by myself after the sun had set and the dark sky gave way to a high hanging moon. I remember it very fondly. A part of me wanted to speak with a kind elderly man who spoke with me some days prior, but I lost courage. I remember not having a lot of courage, so I sat there on a bench by myself, letting my mind drift to thoughts I had no true certainty about. My thoughts weren't my own, nor was my body, or my mind. I was only certain in my uncertainty- the city I now call home was akin to a dark, strange forest with history and peoples I could not relate to... then I remember how the ground shook rhythmically, like someone's heart was pounding so loudly, I could feel it at my feet. Or maybe, it was the start of an earthquake and I was seconds away from dying after I was barely alive.
 
Coming into view, taller than the street lamp that towered next to the bench was a man. I could not comprehend how massive he was. I thought I was going to die all over again. Then he spoke and I somehow felt seen underneath the moonlight and real. The specifics are unimportant. I asked questions before he fit me into his hand and took me to a hill. We looked out over a statue of a woman I did not know- it was before She meant everything to me. To this day, I am left only to speculation regarding why. Such a miniscule decision set the trajectory for my life. Mere whim helped mold me into who I am today and I am left only to wonder what could have been.
 
I don't know how to deal with this. I cannot deal with the feelings regarding losing someone who helped shape me into who I am. She holds grief, not I. A master at it thanklessly, yet I struggle to wade through these coming emotions. I cannot talk, I cannot act- I can write. Even if my gaze is glossy, I can write and feel at peace. It was you who told me to. Famous, they call me. They call me a celebrity. They say I am influential, yet I would not have written a single word if not for your suggestion. Purpose, we spoke about on many occasions. You questioned my lack of it when I had no idea who I even was.
 
I don't know who I am.
 
At least I didn't. I do not recall having a confident answer to your question each time you asked. Sometimes, it was writing, somethings healing. My purpose revolves around my people and Nemea. I am utterly devoted to Her and I would sooner give my life if it meant I could see Her for even a moment- just like how we saw Enarr and Gala. I am unworthy of it, though. I am content with how things are. Content with this unbearable responsibility you've given me. I will see to it, soon. The new century will see my people brought to Elfame... I am breaking underneath it all. I am angry at you. I am happy for you. I am sad over you. Did you see it? The man who attacked me where you rested? How I ached and bled and fled.
 
How I won, barely.
 
I will never forgive you for leaving the way you did. You never got to meet them, and they'll be unable to form their own opinions about the cruel, awful man who had a huge impact on my life. Colored through my own recollections, then tainted by your varied history; I won't ever forgive you for that.
 
I hope you are finally resting even if you could not die how you wanted to all those years ago.
 
Sincerely,
Sunsets over Moonlight

[Sunsets over Moonlight]

. . .
I am-... Nothing new, nothing changed. Look back, thirty-five autumns. Count them all, each second and what they meant and what happened and what didn't happen and why you can't stop and why you can't get out of bed and why meaning is lost and why you'll never be enough and why-

. . .
 

Someone I want to know better

once spoke tired in my ear

about everything that never happened.

 

They melted pretty

into words empty

devoid of any meaning.

 

Cloaked in lilies

that blossomed

solely under moonlight.

 

To me, burnt out

scorched by sun's light,

"I never liked your smile."

 

Someone I want to know better

through red blotched teeth

hidden to the world uttered

 

"You are better quiet."

So my lips shut

crimson staining white.

 

Closed, silvery petals

under sunrise

slumbering beneath waking rays.

 

Stir it

and the petals crumble brown,

dusted opportunity in the wind.

 

Someone I want to know better

couldn't hold it together.

Knees blue and red and purple.

 

There is no better time to die.

Hot splatters over verdant bars

it will be all you are. 

Orange marignolias around stiff fingers,

"You should stop."

Autumn's peak in brown, dying leaves

  

Dancing at nature's pace,

Her whim Her own

and prayers for

 

Someone I want to know better.

. . .

[Sunsets over Moonlight]

. . .

Highest and dearest...Still, thirty-five autumns, I am writing- or trying. Reading, perhaps thriving. I cannot find the words, pen or voice. Silenced, contracting my own throat I want to yell and write words seen from every star above... but they will forget in time, highest and dearest. Time blends itself, being and living hardly removed from one another; I exist- some sick twist of sun and moon, no twilight or dusk or dawn or rise or fall or set or high, you--

. . .

You knead the dirt above me,

a seedling nourished

under raining water

from your watering can.

 

The weeds bother my

growing body naught

when you rend them from the earth

and they wished they ran.

 

I am eager to meet you

once I rise tall and dig low,

my silvery roots binding me in place

and I as I am began.

 

Tall, aiming for the sun

when the grass still closed in.

Shy, petals refused to bloom

before jade eyes brighter than

 

Every jewel underneath the earth.

Late, yet always watched.

Kissed by sun and moon

and tended by something more than man.

[Sunsets over Moonlight]

. . .
Thirty-seven turns of autumn. I wonder if... I wonder if years down the line if all is in my reach, my grasp so full and overflowing, that the sunrise will still be as beautiful. Thirty-seven turns of autumn, each lonelier than the last. Each somehow more disappointing, overburdened. Each cold and wishful for night.
. . .

He is no longer joyous

by the rising sun,

moved not by its run

from east to west.

Unsure now, when it sets
when it is done
because he had his fun,
thoughts of its shine less.

How can one bore of the sun's rays?
Blest at moon's lights
and cerulean waning and lays
in darkness, scorched no more by bright
unwavering love painted during Sae,
settling winter, plunged into eternal night.