I often think about the man on the moon.
Who is he? What did he do? Where does he go to get his coffee?
The unanswered questions radiate through my mind penetrating every solitary crevice of my sanity.
“It must be lonely”, I say to myself as I walk my dog through a local path. Andy, my dog, takes the lead as our journey is illumined by the moon. “To be an alien in your own space…so unobserved and left to sit upon the edge of the crescent with a fishing pole”. The familiar aspect of the moon man with a fishing pole can be attributed to the creative minds behind Dreamworks animation – All of which clearly sit on a throne of lies. Andy and I walked the rest of the way home.
This evening, I will be taking the train downtown to attend a party. As the weather becomes colder and carols quickly overtake the radio, party season comes forward in full effect. Despite my hesitations from hearing of the party location, I boarded the train and left for the city. A familiar place, a place that was once supposed to be the home of American and I. The Esplanade was a street that separated Lakeshore and King Street – In other words, a blend of Louis Vuitton meets Wal-mart. I remember taking a tour of this apartment and us both falling in love with the atmosphere. A garden terrace out back, and a view that would leave anyone speechless.
Attempting to mask the sense of longing I was now feeling, I met a group outside of the building. Staring up at the white stone condo, I felt the wind get knocked out of me. How many years ago was it, I thought, as my fingers toyed with a light. My phone made me remember, as I scrolled back to the beginning of my camera roll and marked the date. I haven’t been here since 2014, the days when the dark and bitter taste of an Americano was all I needed.
Stomping out the cigarette, I walked into the building. Walking into this building was like walking into a glass wall – the harsh reality that you can’t leave the past behind you. I tried to camouflage my new found sense of loneliness. With each step and a bottle in my hand, I slowly picked up my pride and walked into the suite.
Xavier Pt. III It had been days since I had last heard from Xavier. The gentle pounding of my heart with each message I had received. Where was he? What was he doing? Is he happy? The simplistic questions failed to showcase everything I wanted to know. I found that men in this city were not to be toyed with. When searching for love, we often search for stability on uneven ground, an uneven turf that borders fragility. After time, I found that Xavier was nothing different from the rest. Xavier maintanined a look of charm and polish, but deep down he was comprised of nothing more than an underlying mess. Wherever he was, I hated that he would be back.
Parties typically ran the same tune. Sit down for dinner, drink fast, and leave early.
The night followed the traditional course, and after a couple hours, I found myself back outside this familiar building.
For the second time this evening, I looked up at the moon. I wondered what the moon man was doing, Was he looking down at me, or has he disappeared?
No matter how different our lives were, when broken down, we were both the same; Two lonely people who found ourselves miles away from reality.