Day: April 27, 2015

Stars

Stars

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 3 Comments

I have this thing with freckles and birth marks.

I think they’re cute.

The other night I was tracing the ones on his back with my finger.  “You know something?” I asked him. “If you connected these, it almost looks like a constellation.”

“Oh yeah?  Which one?”

I traced the outline of the familiar figure once again.

“Orion.”  I smiled to myself and kissed one of the little dots on his shoulder.

He flipped over to face me.  “Turn around,” he told me.

“Why do I feel like you are about to do something incredibly inappropriate to me?”  I laughed and turned my back towards him.

He pulled my tank top up and his fingers searched my back.

“Here.”  He said.

“Here what?”

“Here,” and he leaned forward and kissed three points on my shoulder blade, “is orion’s belt.”

Planets

Planets

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 2 Comments

I used to dream of traveling through space.

I’d dream of circling around the constellations and soaring across the night sky with the shooting stars.

I would sit at my window and stare up at the moon imagining myself bouncing around it’s surface enjoying the weightlessness.

They bought me a book about the solar system.

I looked through the photos of each planet and decided I would travel to Saturn and dance on its rings.

I told you of my childhood dreams and all you could say was, “that’s impossible.”

I asked you why and you said, “because Saturn is made of hydrogen and helium.”

I laughed at you, always so logical. “Well then, ” I told him, “It’d be like dancing on air.”

Hera

Hera

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 3 Comments

In the still, quiet hour, just before the new dawn breaks, before the rest of the world wakes, I walk the empty streets in search of one who would know me.

My temples all lie in ruin.

Desolate and abandoned by those who vowed to love me forever.

My name long forgotten, remembered only in passing as that of an ancient, mythical being.

The queen of heaven–lonely without her subjects.

“The stars sing for you,” he told me the night I found him.  “The sun and moon dance for your pleasure.”

He was beautiful; a modern Jason.

And when I saw him, I knew he was the one I had been searching for.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I am no one.”

“How is that so, when you are already mine?”

“Then why ask?”

I loved him.

I lived with him.

I allowed myself to age with him.

The day he breathed his final breath he asked me, “who are you?”

“I am yours.”

“But who were you before?”

“No one,” I replied.