Night has new meanings when she's in it. It turns from a place of demons, of death, of beasts, to a gigantic black dance floor. She spins in the middle of it like a disco ball. Beyond bright. Beyond shining. Even beyond effulgent. She's more than I've ever known...more than I will ever know. So high above me...as sharp as a thousand tiny panes of iridescent glass. Reflecting my face back at me a thousand times and showing me the monster I used to be...the monster I wish I was now...and the monster I'll never be again.
Do I think she's mine now? That I have a chance now that her boy, her illusion of normalcy, has run off to the wilds?
I don't dare.
I can break into her house...I can memorize the scent of her on her the bits of muslin I stuff into my pockets...I can drop ash in a long line as I trail her all over town...I can imagine that she slept naked for me and not him...I can dream of taking her to bed and making her scream.
But I don't dare think she's mine.
How do you claim ownership of the moon? Of something that hangs so high? Of something that spins to a celestial tune and bathes your face in light you haven't felt in a hundred twenty years?
Night has new meanings when she's in it.
And I want to find them all. To count them, preserve them for posterity, to make memories of each light step in our pitch black waltz. I want to drown in the bottom of a bottle, to bathe in my cups, and bring poetry up from places that Cecily never saw...places that no one knows exist.
Places that I know Buffy Summers may never see.
For while she gives definition to my night...I give nothing to her daylight.
Dare I think she won't need daylight now that Captain Cardboard is gone? Dare I think even that?
Ask me later...after the next bottle. After the Merlot is thick in the base of my throat like blood and the absurdity of hope spins round and round in front of my eyes. A disco ball...the moon...her face...her damned gorgeous face. I close my eyes and it's still there. Too far away to touch. Too hot to burn me...too cold to freeze me.
I hang on the edge of the dance floor...lurk in it's shadows.
I'll wait for the music to change. For the sad solo to turn into something for two. I think I'll wait forever.
I don't dare ask her to dance.
But maybe, when the stars are out one fine evening, she'll ask me.
Maybe the ball will drop and shatter. Maybe the moon will fall to earth.
I don't dare think she's mine.
But I know I'm hers.
Ain't love grand?
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