Hey Moon

Inspired by Cougar Town, the boyfriend and I decided to play the movie mash up game to pass the time. We came up with the list below. I didn’t put the answers on purpose to keep people guessing. Enjoy!

1. A man marries a dead woman, who later fights with her best friend over their marriages.
2. A conman magician goes boards a hot air balloon into long island, where he lives next to a wealthy, eccentric man.
3. A wealthy, selfish man dreams of nightmarish creatures who aim to wreak havoc on Christmas.
4. A blind man starts working at a fashion magazine, where he caters to a horrible boss.
5. Three children are swooped into a painting of a ship, where they meet a guerilla group composed of a veteran soldier and kids.
6. A high school acapella group investigates into the murder of a member’s childhood friend.
7. A film crew in disguise attempts to leave a country, one of them having a long distance relationship with someone back home.
8. The world is attacked by aliens and is forced to relive the attack over and over again.
9. A corporation has managed to spread a deadly virus, infecting a group of friends who then struggles with a possessed girl.
10. A 200-year-old robot commits the perfect bank robbery.
11. Investigating into the disappearance of a mentally ill patient, two men travel to an island full of clones.
12. A group of juveniles spend a day getting to know each other and a soap salesman on a plane.
13. A wealthy philantropist with a heart condition seeks revenge for a kidnapping.
14. A group of dogs wonder where they’ll go when they die after a botched robbery.
15. A male nurse gets into comical situations as he meets his girlfriend’s parents: a baseball announcer and a weather girl.
16. A young pirate in search of treasure instead finds a race of apes.
17. A girl endowed with obedience leaves her glass slipper behind at a ball.
18. Two assassins start hearing narrations in their heads.

It creeped her out, made her feel choked- out of breath, out of place. The faces she see, she dare not remember. The intricacies, the expressions on their wrinkly foreheads, scrunched up and soggy.

Unlike the moonlit river she once saw, in a movie. About the tale of the once wealthy, young man. Who never liked crowded places. Who would grimace and frown and disapprove. Of the stares of others, provoking. He wanted no company, no relief, only solitude.

Like the raven on the grassy field, preying upon nuts and crackers and mice- Alone.

There’s the glass of wine and cylinder. It never liked crowded places. Forever waiting, forever hoping. For a hand to graze, for an arm to hold. The glassy exterior of the once-been thief of hearts. Of souls.

The little boy down the street, who shudders and stutters. And hearts beat fast, hands race, eyes dilate. His mom would say, “calm down”. To which he would sweat once more. Never did he like trains. Or the road.

He, like she, never like crowded places. Lines she avoided. The slightest tinge of bodies pressing against each other. On the streets, on the bay. On a clear, cloudy day. Could never suffice. One would think she would never, lay down with a stranger. To which she could barely breathe. At a place where she used to frequent.

She never liked crowded places. The bed is crowded, she would say. I have nowhere else to go, she would say. The sheets are white and tangled. At her feet, at her chin. The fresh kiss of the wind. With this stranger, to which she thinks. More of a candle-flickering. You never see the ghosts, only closeness. The tight, warm clasp of his hand on yours. The whole time. She almost bolted. Ran away, from the abyss, the dark, dank mist. From the bed without a face.

She never liked crowded places, for where the moon shone. Some tiny, shimmering shard of something. Of hope, of peace, of love. It all fit there- tightly, closely. The stranger, to which she said goodbye.

To which she said hello.

Have you ever noticed how right before you take your first plunge on that first summer day. How grim the water looked, how scary and unexpected- Especially for a girl who spent two years of her life in swimming class. For the life of her, she could not- save a sailor or win a race, dip in water and stop the rushing and choking of getting drowned into oblivion.

Have you ever noticed the way the water felt? The cold, freezing shards of ice that you fear could pierce your skin. That you fear would take you by surprise and leave you hanging and hoping for a hand to hold, an arm to graze. By which you see faces who seem to look, but never see. Who seem to hear, but never listen. To your cries and pleas of help.

Have you ever noticed how afraid you were of the way you look. And the way you swim. And the way people stared at you as you put one toe after the other. Hesitantly. Into a pool of wonder and fear and excitement. And just as you feel comfortable enough, you think of people seeing and noticing the manner in which you move your head, the manner in which you flail you arms; wet, cold, shivering, catching a breath that never seems to come.

Have you ever noticed the way you create splashes? The way the water ripples out into a tight, perfect circular motion that you feel may be deserving of someone else. As you struggle and fight from the bottom of the pool, one would stop and view it in all its glory. Perfect waves in perfect harmony; perfect ripples and perfect songs, striving to be heard, striving to be made.

Have you ever noticed how wonderfully you surface? Out of the abyss, with your eyes wide open. And hair wet, out of breath, you are back into the familiar world you left behind for the uncertain beauty of the leap. The rush of the dive in the moments where air fills your lungs flashes before you and you think how amazing it is to be alive. Where you were brave enough to jump and brave enough to hold on to a piece of a nicely made drop of water.

Have you ever noticed how right after you take your first plunge on that first summer day, how real the water looked, how familiar and fulfilling- Especially for a girl who had the ability to create ripples. Big splashes, and they all just ripple out.

Dear Haru,

You are a very quirky man, but I have loved you from the start, from the minute you told me, “Let’s play a game” by which we were lost in a four-hour frenzy. I didn’t know it by then but I did love you, and I guess I always will.

Motivation escapes you, sometimes or most of the times. It does not matter; I think to myself, he is a very quirky man. And without difficulty, I give you a push and a shove and you start working like a factory worker intent on getting his 13th month pay, like a seagull on a whim, like a mad, naked philosopher streaking through a European street, shouting words that seemed nonsensical.

Eureka! he screamed.

But you were never so quirky. Quirky was never a word you gave to the sickly, who would not know the difference between pain and feeling, who felt burdened and burdening, who lost hope and faith, who wouldn’t believe in his soul. Despite this, you held on, be it for a love of life or a love of orange juice; a love of peace or a love of health.

Quirky as it seems, you are victim to several vices. You play cards every weekend, you gamble on life and you are a geek by all means. You love your woman, too much it seems, and you worship her as you worship your cards and your games and your toys. Other people would have drowned into oblivion, their destinies cut by the three sisters, but you have not. You have made a living out of this, as some would say, and you’ve made them more practical than mere hobbies. Vices have never consumed you, as they would do to me, and for that, you are very quirky.

Really quirky.

You suffer from an artist’s craze, for the desire to create something beautiful has been emblazoned on your soul. You thrive on beauty, and you control it, and yet you draw upon nothing but a feather and a thin slice of light. The talent is there, the raw, immeasurable talent, but the wait is too much for you to bear. At least for now. For now, you say.

I love you still.

You are a very quirky man, but I find that oddly beautiful, like a lone country house in a business park, an orange against greens, a boat in the middle of the desert. And that’s more than okay. As long as you’re still there for me, as long as you sing me songs that no one else would hear, as long as you are interesting enough to be conversational and caring enough to be romantic. As long as you’re intelligent in the right ways, funny at the right times and serious at the appropriate moments. As long as you still call me “love”. As long as you put down your walls when around me and tell me your secrets, ambitions, hopes and dreams. As long as you care. As long as you are willing to go the extra mile, as long as I see your efforts for the people you love. As long as you’re still a family guy or a no-family guy, a husband or a soul mate. As long as you are willing to be “cute” with me. As long as you are willing to travel with me, and read with me, and go to cafes and bookstores with me. As long as you’re willing to watch a movie with me on a hot, sunny day when the clouds are high and the heat is unbearable, maybe with a cup of iced coffee. As long as you love me.

You are a very quirky man. But to me, you are perfect.

Yours,

Elie