To Survive

The moon reflects on the river, which runs low – the dregs of a storm that has been. So pale, sister moon. The river scatters you.

Ripple, rough, trip, and tumble.

My toes dive into the cool sands that lie beneath the warm crust, which cradles my heels. I sink to the bank of the river, to feel you. The warmth of daylight clings to the surface – the sun that has warmed your face clings to the sand.

Burrow, scoop, sift, and press.

The sand is your skin next to mine. I crush it to my palm. It does not yield, only slips away grain by grain to rejoin its fellows. It will never be felt again.

I cast myself back, my hair spreading over the sand as if it were your fingers.

The stars fall down to me from the darkness of the sky. They tell me of you – for they see all. The dust clouds, churned by caravans and armies, could not blind their sight. They whisper of your exploits and conquests, of the dreams you have dreamed beneath the tents of war. They boast of your strength and the golden-horde of your treasury. They see greatness in the boy that I knew. They blink, as morning dew touched by the sun, spinning the tales that I shall not hear from your lips.

The balmy breeze caresses the hollow of my throat – the tips of your fingers, touching me as they did long ago.

Sliding my lids closed, I am in the grove with you once more, the scent of jasmine heavy in the space between us. Your thumb slips beneath my veil, freeing a tress of my hair. Your palm cradles my cheek, slick with the tears of the lies I will courageously tell. Your smile, it is pure. The memory of your smile slices my heart.

The stars remember my lies, but they will not repeat them. As I recline in the sand, bathing in their clarity, the torment and the torture is mine alone.

My arms are spread wide, palms open to the sky.

I can feel your breath in the breeze. As I exhale into you I am warmed, as if you cover me.

The stars laugh.

Suddenly I am cold, for the lies that I gave to you. You are not with me. My eyes stagger open.

The night is cooling – the air no longer thick and smooth with the day. I pull myself up, prise my body from the bed of sand. My limbs, heavy with relaxation, change with the swiftness of a moment. Soon they will cramp.

I glance once more at the river's depths, dreading streaks of darkness. Streaks that tell of blood spilled on faraway sands – the grief that your final, unwritten, letter will bring.

The chill of night sinks deep into my bones. I shall return once more, when the weight of my choices bear upon me. For now, I shall retire.