Moonlight Conversations

As a Writer, I would make an excellent Spy. I live for characters just as spies live for code names.

Let me tell you something about Azure or maybe let’s call him 44.

He says I live life safe. I live by a list of don’ts and not for the sake of curiosity.

We share the full moon, 44 and I.

He lights up his blunt, takes a sip of his drink as I take a sip of my apple juice and stare at the moon. How beautiful was she that she had to grace the skies at night surrounded by stars?

44 does not know how I live never having tasted alcohol…been to jail or worse off, smoked.

So…I think back to when we used to roll up dry paw paw leaves and smoke till our eyes turned blood red and then we’d hide behind the house until our Father went out for his evening stroll then rush into the house and take a bath. I tell 44 that I chose this life and I choose it every day, but he does not believe it.

“You ooze a certain kind of delicateness that is not good.”

“Do not pass judgment on something unless you’ve taken the time to experience it, not just to let it have power over you.”

So, when he goes on his trail of offering me nuggets of wisdom, all I do is listen and nod…sometimes, my mind wanders to the words and how easy it is to use them, but I do not tell 44 that I am a mystery unto myself.

I do not tell him that I am like the slippery fish I embody, a daughter of the lake, and my mind is a marvel- so whichever version he encounters of me, it’s never the same vessel that channels these conduits of emotions and thoughts he talks of…so I stare at the moon.

She smiles at me and I know that no matter where I go, she’ll always be the one who knows my tides.

She’ll always be the one, but 44 is engrossed in his drink…he does not realize this change in me, so I get up and walk to the lake shore.

In my other life…I’ll be the moon, beautiful, ever changing and totally unreachable.

grayscale photography of woman holding handbag
Habila Mawazaje/

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