part seven (the final piece of the puzzle is now here).

dear boxes, dear pink of eyes, dear resolution,

This is the end. Small rain storms coalesce under every tree, the blue of the sky hidden by the maelstrom between their branches. There is no time for an umbrella, no time to look up, no time to see. Stay tuned next for the feeling of urgency that accompanies the destruction of a planet. 

The Curtain Falls 

The girl who lives on the moon is speaking to you. Her voice is soft like dandelions in the summer sun, warm like springtime zephyrs, melodic like water dripping from a leaky faucet. She asks you questions. She tries to soothe your cracks; she tries to pull the darkness back into your liver. The girl who lives on the moon imagines she can affix your new skin to a spot on the horizon. When you are sleeping, she whispers to your feet. She tells them to run in the direction of the full moon’s light on a cloudy night. The girl who lives on the moon is speaking to you. You do not hear her. This story is not about the girl who lives on the moon, she is merely an addition to the narrative; she is factual support, she is the link to relevant data, she is the Works Cited page. This story is about you. You are subjective. You are spinning abstractions into something concrete.

In the morning, when your eyes first see light, you think of a distant horizon. You do not know if this image is of sunrise or sunset, but in it the sun is vast and golden and kissing the silver brow of a crescent moon. This image seems important to you. You splash your face with cold water in the bathroom, your skin prickles and your blood churns. You stare at the mirror and the mirror stares back. The landscape of your face is a map of changes, but there is no buried treasure here, only salt water stinging and stomach churning and a rare calm day. You do not feel the earth spinning beneath your feet. You are solid, you occupy a space unto yourself. Your thoughts are vectors, each with magnitude and direction, each producing a resultant that somehow equals you.

Prove: You exist. Assertion One: You are here, you are a heart beating, you are lungs breathing. Assertion Two: The girl who lives on the moon can hear you. Assertion Three: You crack an egg into a white bowl and the yolk is the color of the morning sun beating against the kitchen window. Summation: The feeling of unraveling reverses to the tune of a VCR being wound back on itself.

Quod erat demonstrandum. That which was to be demonstrated.

parts one through six of this story can be found in the archive.