Prompt 51 [52 is next]
Added 2025-03-09 22:33:37 +0000 UTC[I may do a second run at this but, real talk, I am absolutely fucking exhausted from the week so here's a shorty]
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"Moonlight does such a good job of highlighting our craters and I like it when I can see your flaws."
"Fuck you" I said back to him. We both smiled.
The show ended between 2-7 hours ago [who knows] and tonight is never going to end. Sure, I'll move on [in time or space or what have you] but Tonight is forever.
I go back sometimes and think about it. You closing the distance. How I knew I'd never want to kiss anyone else like that again. How you changed everything.
When I opened my eyes again it was The World v2 - massive update from the developers.
Thank you for picking me.
Comments
Mare Mare Mare 🥹 this is deeply moving. a present both wary of and hopeful for future, that post-recovery, written in this honest, earnest tone you hit that is so full of knowing and awareness. it is beautiful, it is important. thank you, darling 💜
caroscope
2025-03-11 02:56:56 +0000 UTCLate to the party but busy day and I needed to sort out what the quiet panic was when I thought about a response "Moonlight does such a good job of highlighting our craters and I like it when I can see your flaws." It’s important to examine them Because I don’t like surprises I want to know now Here at the beginning What I’m in for; Because if I acknowledge yours Then you will have to acknowledge mine And I can trick you into accepting All these things I know are flaws Even when you tell me they are not; Moonlight is supposed to be romantic But here we are under the surgeon’s headlamp Dissecting each other Labeling the parts Removing the rot with careful scalpel Replacing it with something artificial Hoping that in some post-recovery years later The scars will have been worth it
Mare
2025-03-11 00:49:32 +0000 UTCThis is so beautifully painted. I want to live there and get my bit of sea glass and a baguette. ❤️
Carrie A (Earserosera)
2025-03-10 04:27:45 +0000 UTC“Moonlight does such a good job of highlighting our craters and I like it when I can see your flaws.” The scrolling cursive catches the air like a windchime. And I imagine the banner of text braiding around my fingers. It’s one of a series of phrases embroidered on ribbons garlanding her stall. Each a band of simple words strung together to sing big thoughts. She sells handmade soaps. And zines about the intimacy of an umbrella shared among strangers, of giving partners well-meaning but lopsided trims and finding each other’s initials in palm lines if you squint just *this* much. Among these wares, a sign like a drawn hand points to a box with a slit in its lid, instructing the curious to surrender their fingers to the unknown, a new age Bocca della Verità. Those who do are rewarded with cool-as-silk polished stones—minerals and sea glass and crystals. And this exercise always ends with a shared smile between customer and vendor—and a newly pebble-weighted pocket. I admire her business. It’s her heart on a folding table and she gives a bit of it away every Wednesday through Sunday, 10am to 4pm. It’s not loitering, my narrator's observation. I sell at the market too, and our stalls are kitty corner to one another. But I sling bread. [I watched Kiki’s Delivery Service about 84 times in 2003 and fell in love with Osono and Miyazaki's Tudor-style cliffside bakery overlooking the sea. I was 8 then, but in adulthood, the love morphed into something like being, all red hair and strong hands keeping the rhythm of kneading dough]. All this to say that Wednesday through Sunday, 10am to 4pm, I see the artist/soap maker/gemologist work her magic as I work mine. And it’s nice. May, that’s her name, and her heart things have become a happy fixture in my peripheral vision. That crescent moon sliver of the corner of my eye seeking her in a captivated diagonal of warmth. And she does have craters and I do like them too. I hope she sees mine. I want her to. When’s the next full moon? Perhaps then I’ll fish for a stone.
caroscope
2025-03-10 03:41:19 +0000 UTC
