She Told The Moon About Them

By Myra Gupta

She told the moon about them, and she smiled. She smiled at figments of embrace in her mind, woven into a fabric of delusion. Every touch ignites a spark in her heart, a desperate heart that’s waiting to be touched, seen, caressed, and understood. She smiled in pity- at the ink that bled into sheets of unrequited love. She smiled in awe- at the blood on her hands, dripping from her heart as his eyes traced off anywhere like forgotten truths. She smiled in joy- at the flutter in her heart when our eyes held each other’s, and it felt like the fabric wasn’t built on lies. She smiled in understanding- when she saw how her eyes took in each look, laugh, and thought as something more than friendly. She smiled in belief- when she heard what he said to her, the words melted into her soul like poison lacing fine wine. She smiled in sorrow- when she saw the tears blur the unknown hand intertwined.

She smiled when she realized this was every teenage girl pressing pillows in dreamy fancies of a world where she was held by her first love, unwilling to call it love. 

She smiled when she was soaked in the fact that whether or not he ever knew, 10, 40, or 100, she would always remember him as the person who taught her desperate craving, hunger for someone to look at you how he looks at someone else. 

She smiled when she was told about them; and when she was told about me. The bittersweetness of a grape with a spoilt core, the sweetness of love that is never seen. 

She smiled at the realization that every teenage girl’s heart is a myriad of unrequited love and self-loathing- shrouded with the light that people see as childlike innocence. 

She smiled when she realized this was the hell of love- every teenage girl

By Myra Gupta