tired

Sometimes frogs played violins in the middle of the forest, expecting no one, just needing something to emote the heartbreak their croaks couldn't lament. And when they closed their eyes, the moon shining on a baby, the fireflies peeked out. For a moment in a forest, bugs with fire in their bodies willingly existed with a frog. Their behinds lighting softly, softer than a lightbulb, softer than a child's cry, brighter than the darkest corner in a broken heart. And soon more bugs would appear. Unsure, scared, will the frogs' pretty rhythm give away to the cruelty they are so willing to do… Two lady bugs stepped forward and danced. Still the frog played without sight, letting their heart fill them whole, the cracks controlling the bow, a long slow note, and the ladybugs romanced. Maybe it wasn’t for the best to dance on a broken sound, a cry on an instrument to a frog's dry face with a crying heart, but baby, the moon would say, love again if you've loved before.

In time more bugs would dance, the fireflies content with swooning in the air, lighting this strange occurrence, a tale to tell the strange eggs with tails in the pond near their birthplace. Two bees, chunky and yellow, and black, held hands and twirled. No smiles but the love for each other coated everyone in warmth and flooded their heads. The break in the frog couldn’t be taken away, but neither could the love that held it together. Yin and yang, a necessary evil, no good without bad. Whichever truth the frog chooses, they’ll live past this, they'll play more songs, different each time, and they’ll have lived. Because it’s better to live and hurt, and love, than to survive and have nothing to your heart.

Chance is the price we pay to be loved.

With this the moon curled their sweeping lehenga, their flowing saree, the smooth silk taking the stars, and twinkles, and winks, the moon's face lighting kindly on the baby, a smile just as. With slow measured moves the moon's arms swept away from them, they turned, the dark indigo of their skin blending with the sky, their skirts, their clothes. Their back to the world they floated on the sky, down the curve of the world away from the child, and closer to the end. 

And soon another color, another storyteller bloomed into the skies. The sun.

They didn’t float, they walked, seemingly slower than the moon had arrived, but just alike they spread their arms. Joyous glee bursting from their burnt orange skin, their saree held higher, the details throwing rays, and blinding lights onto the sky.

The baby cried.

And soon the day started.

As time passed Chandrakanta would grow with the moon in her heart, the moon's stories resonating in her dreams. They’d sleep, her dark lashes fluttering to the rhythm of dancing bugs, brave toads, and clouds with families. And then the day would start. 

At this the baby would find the day hard. Her parents would greet the sun, staying away from her path, and the baby would cry. She babbled at the sky, it hurt to look. Her little yes couldn't hold the light of the sun, and still she tried. She gargled and squealed, daily. Her parents held her, charmed. Until it became obvious the sun would not look at her. The sun was for the skies, never looking at anyone, moving away. Redder than a ladybug, dissatisfied with the rejection the moon never gave them, Chandrakanta wailed. 

The first rejection she’d suffer.

The only solace the parents found was when the child was laughing.

They’d play on the grass, its loud whispers enough to have Chandrakanta giggling, flat on her back. Until they left, the grass irritated her skin, leaving it raw and bumpy, they didn’t go back. So much was the distress they felt they could only find solace with the moon. Each night she’d come, as beautiful as the love a parent could give.

The baby found relief in the moon, her parents, her dreams, and so much. Everything gave her love, she loved everything. Soon Chandrakanta would grow, she’d start school, and properly meet other children. She'd live with them for a moment, and shed dance with them.

So sure of this new adventure, this new dream to happen, she never prepared to not have it. What a shock to her heart, to take a chance and pay for it.

The children wouldn’t dance, they’d grown together, been together past five, they no longer housed the moon behind their ribs. They’d let her bleed out and drew the curtains when she began swimming near. They’d rejected the moon. They’d rejected chandrakanta.

Another rejection. 

Chandrakanta lived, but quietly. She laid in bed that night. Her parents asked and she smiled, she’d played a goose game.

She’d only watched them play goose.

The sun began leaving, her salwar, all shades of orange, clay and cinnabar taking the rays, the saree taking the heat. And the moon neared. The sky tinged blue, soon indigo, soon a love so strong it filled her dreams. 

And if she closed the curtains.

If she rejected the moon.

Chandrakanta watched the sky, the window slowly lighting. And if she ignored her, and if she dug into her dna and took the moon, stripped her skin from the moon. Could she also play goose.

The moon appeared, and smiled.

And everything was perfect.

The frog was abandoned, they hurt, it would never get better, they’d tried, they’ll try again.

That night she stayed up for the first time.

The dreams that only lived in her mind were told to her, the story developing with swells of skirts, and gushes of wind as laughter.

At school she didn’t talk to the kids, she smiled, and passed, but didn't talk. She didn't need them.

She had her parents, and the moon, and the clouds, and the blue saree.

Chandrakanta wouldn’t be rejected again.She wouldn’t take the chance.

Days passed, months passed, years passed. They no longer took chances, but sometimes they thought about it. Chandrakanta discussed with the moon.

Instead of people, choices, opportunities, they continued talks of fantasies. Where people grew into their clothes, and nodded to the women in the sky and moved on, Chandrakanta only held tighter.

Her parents used to say it was a phase, she’d grow out of it, Chaand, my love, their mom would start, Chandrakanta would smile, her eyes brightening with love, but her eye bags robbed mom of comfort. My dear.. Please, sleep longer, she smiled, take a chance, her frail hands held their fingertips, please don't end like me.

The moon allowed this to continue. She saw the eyes. Chaand’s skin dark enough strangers wouldn’t see the dark circles, but Chaand was loved enough the moon noticed. And she began worrying. The sky went unperturbed, the stars twinkled, and the sun appeared, but sometimes. She hesitated. Maybe. 

Maybe if the sun loved Chandrakanta,if they left. Itd hurt, but if they slept, if they made a choice and left the moon. Shed had decades, she could live with just seeing their sleeping face.

The moon wouldn’t, they paused, and soon feeling the burning warning, the shaking of the earth, the sky tightening its hold. The moon moved sluggishly, again away from the sun, and past the curve. Again, Chandrakanta less the person they could be.

It would never get better

Chaand protected themselves. Theyd tried, they gave chances and they got rejected.They gave a chance to friends, and they made one. But soon he chose another. They left them, and all they had was a year of hurt. They didn’t try again.

Their father left, and Chaand hurt. Ther mother hurt. Hurt so much chaand rejected her father, and housed the moon and her mother closer to her ribs. And now, Chaand housed no one but the moon. Filled with nothing but dreams there was more than enough space for the moon to fill their life. 

Now they were older, near adulthood, their school years about to be in the past. And chaand took no chances with anyone.

Known as the woman with the moon for a heart people looked away. To still see the moon, even after the toll it takes, even what it means. They ignored the whispers.

Eyebags, headaches, and more aches were worth the sleepless nights talking to the moon. The only chance Chaand took: staying with the moon.

You had your parents,

Not anymore

 if you took a chanc-

No

Their talks of dreams began getting sparse. Instead the moon began arguing. 

They didn’t understand where this came from. They were fine, they'd be fine. If their doctors worried for them it didn’t matter, they'd just stop going there too. They'd stay for the moon. If they end like their mother and it was with the moon, that was fine too.

Just as long as they were with the moon. The only chance they take.

And then Chandrakanta met her.

Her name was Ravi.

Ravi liked to sleep, she liked sweets, and took too many chances.

They didn’t talk but they thought about it.

If they took the chance? Would Ravi hurt them? Would she be another dad, classmate, another sun?

Chaand didn't take chances.

But they made one choice.

This one choice was the beginning  to the end of their ending.

Chaand talked to the moon about Ravi. 

She’s pretty, moon, they whispered, unsure. They didn’t do this, it made them nervous. They mentioned her hair, dark and long, their heartbeat, They mentioned her laugh, Shes.. so so pretty, moon. 

The moon paused, hopeful. Could this be Chaandrakanta’s flying fireflies- the beginning of their overcoming.

You should talk to her.

Chaand shot up from their bed. Alarmed. 

No, they dont do that, take chances, not again,. No. they drank black coffee, they also don’t sleep.

But, for a second. For a second they’d thought they were with her. Not the moon, not the sun. Ravi. On the beach. Chaand blushed, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

A month later Chaand’s violin came out. They were offered a job, writing, short stories, nothing, barely minimum wage. They took it. Anything, money was needed, and they wrote. They wrote a story, and another. They weren’t good, but they were better, one thing.

Chaand took a chance.

They told the moon, and the night lit with bright stars, the moon a smiling cat, the wind rushed through all the trees and all the birds. Chaand smiled.

School ended and their stories grew.

The frog played the violin, the moon would say, some would say badly. But they played for themselves. To hear, just to hear.

Dont’ freak out,  Chaand said, looking away. Their eyebags dark, and their eyes dark, like space, but beneath the covers of human, a bright gleam like a star shined softly.

The moon smiled.

Ravi talked to  me.

She, they licked their lips, barely breathing, likes my stories. They didnt talk much that night.

The ladybugs clasped hands and began dancing. The frog closed their eyes. The violin playing. They didn’t know how to thank, to take eyes from their back, to let them breathe. They allowed the frog to breath, to play out their breakage.

Ravi was so bright, she blinded Chaand. She smiled and the sun was a candle. They'd talk, Ravi learned about the moon. She stayed once, too much, but chaand would survive. That night they stayed talking, Ravi kept up, and the moon was overjoyed. It meant the beginning of the end, and she couldn’t wait to hear the last note. 

The next day ravi had eyebags. And chaand hated it. Those weren't like her normal spots. Her sunspots, her textured skin, her birthmarks. They blended well into her dark skin, unless you looked of them nobody would notice them. But Chaand saw them, they couldn't not see them. And they hated them. 

With the ladybugs out the bees joined. Different in the dance, but same in their kindness. The frog played high, they grown used to this song, theyd grown used to this memory. Breathing roughly, the frog prepared for the ending.

Ravi convinced Chaandrakanta of sleeping. Her house. They didn't discuss with the moon. And it was too much. A chance too big, and if it ended badly. And if it ended too soon. They looked into ravis eyes. Big, dark, a pool of warmth, and a shade of her color, Chaand loved her.

Just, just this once

Maybe it wasn’t for the best to dance on a broken sound, a cry on an instrument to a frog's dry face with a crying heart, but baby, the moon would say, if you've loved, you'll love again.

A year later Ravi held Chaandrakantas face. Tenderly she passed the pads of her thumbs over their eyebags. It was bright, such a  bright day. They were on the beach. Chaand had started sleeping, but the bags stayed, a mark of decades of playing a violin. Though they rarely stayed up too late they knew the moon was there, the moon with her skirts, sweeping the sky with love, lighting her baby with light. Now Chaand looked at Ravi. Close. So close. 

Chaandrakanta breathed.

Breathed.

And made a choice.

I love you so much.