Poet, lifestyle blogger, reviewer, and all round awesome writer Hannah Repka presents ‘The Moon’, featured in Envie literary magazine. Not necessarily horror, but eerily haunting to a degree beyond many genre pieces, this is a fluid, dreamlike narrative that threads between the elliptical thoughts of two lovers in embrace. I get something new from this with every read, and hope you love it as much as I do.

The Moon

It was a calm night, like any other.

I lie across my bed, my limbs spread wildly in every direction possible. The balcony doors just beyond my reach still remain open from when he slipped inside, undetected by others in the house below.

He is still here, too.

Spread out beside me he lies, nuzzling my neck as if he were something of a small child. Every so often he gently takes my skin in his teeth and bites with the smallest of pressure. A reminder that he is still there. I’m sure to have marks in the morning, but what do I care? 

Love bites, he said they were. Love? Hardly so.

The boy is something of a fling, I believe. He won’t stick around.

I’d been meaning to tell him for a long time, but I guess I just didn’t have the heart. 

She always helped, because She knew what it was like.

And there we sat, staring endlessly into each other’s pale, imperfect faces. Never blinking.

Her silence was welcoming and something of a comfort that I appreciated greatly. 

My oldest friend.

I’d often thought of Our predicament, of She and I; considering all of the endless possibilities night after night.

Of the two, She seemed to have the bitterest end.

Some nights I would sit and silently mumble my problems while She listened on, never interrupting. Then, I would relay Her own story to Her.

“Sad, isn’t it?” I would say, once Her tale had been told. “To have a lover that comes secretly in the night, kissing your face with warmth and light. But as soon as the day breaks once more, he disappears, only to return once the darkness fell.”

So now as I lay here, still spread out across my mattress, I gaze endlessly into Her eyes and let a tear slip away. A tear for me, and for Her.

For my lover, like Hers, bathes me in kisses and lies, while promising another day- another night, another morning, another dusk, another dawn.

We stare back at each other, silently, while in another’s embrace; softly I whisper, “If only you could stay,” for Her ears alone.

He might’ve heard me, but what does it matter? 

It’s just the Moon, and me.

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