The Spotless Moon

The Spotless Moon

Looking at her face beside the bus window for a few moments while her bus overtakes mine in ever the same evening traffic exaggerating into eternity as I sat by the window seat in the last row of my bus, became an uncanny habit for someone like me, who sleeps like a child as soon as I took my place in the bus. Yet, for the past few weeks, my heart yearned like a child, just to get a glimpse at her selenic beauty of a face in the golden hour of dusk. Despite all the exhaustion and tire that paints people dull by the sunset, hers is the only face that reflects calmness contrasting all the chaos of the evening traffic.

My morning bus rides didn't expect to get to see her. I didn't miss her in the evenings I couldn't see her. My legs knew her classroom, yet they resent going anywhere near it and any occasional pass-by at the college, My eyes never intended to stop by and take a look. When there were opportunities to walk up to her and talk, my mouth shut itself, not because of fear of rejection, but simply because it didn't want to. I don't know whether she knows me but, I couldn't care less about it. I never once wondered what her voice sounded like or what she smelt like. I never thought of knowing her name and knowing what food she liked. I never wanted her attention, yet I never felt ghosted by that. Looking at her, I felt like lying on my back looking at the night sky, watching the stars rise and the moon glide. The calm of midnight, the silent presence that made a significant impact was overwhelming and thus my pen chose to confess.

In a world where love designated perpetual presence and expecting one to be with them at all times, I felt so out of place. There wasn't an idiom or metaphor that I could use to describe my feelings toward her. But all I knew for sure was this: Nor love, neither is lust, this relationship has got no name in this world.

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