the sound of a pencil scratching

She writes poetry before she goes to bed; she scribbles half-coherent thoughts with a thick little yellow pencil stub, and lets her dreams tiptoe quietly across the paper.

the sound of the pencil scratching calms her nerves.

Her beat-up old notebook is full of words, scrawled sleepily and sometimes illegible. When she turns the pages a warm glow seeps through her, all the way to her toes; and when she writes the glow slides onto the paper, making it warm to the touch.

the sound of the pencil scratching makes her yawn.

She tries to write about the way her violin looks in the moonlight, and how the smell of lilacs somehow makes the night sky look extraordinarily beautiful, but her hand gets slower and slower. The notebook glows serenely in her lap.

the sound of the pencil scratching lulls her to sleep.

sun boy and moon girl

“I feel like I’m smoke.”

“Really? Why?”

“I dunno… Just my personality, I guess. It’s light and wispy and it has no shape.”

“But I don’t think smoke’s like that at all.”

“You don’t?”

“No. It’s strong and beautiful and free.”

“Oh. Well then maybe I feel like a Pokémon.”


“You know, a Poké–”

“I know what a Pokémon is. Which one?”

“Um. That purple one. Whatsisname…”


Thank you. Yeah, I feel like Ditto.”


“Because he’s not anything. He just imitates whatever he sees, and no one knows what he really is.”



“I actually always thought Ditto was really adorable.”

“Huh. Well… no, okay, I know what I feel like.”

“What do you feel like?”

“I feel like the moon. I can be beautiful, but if I didn’t have a sunny person like you lighting me up, nobody would even see me.”

“See, now you’re just completely mixed up.”

“I am?”

“If it wasn’t for the moon, the night would be black and empty. And the sun would get awfully lonely.”

“But the sun shines all by itself. It’s so beautiful I can’t even look at it without getting blinded.”

“Yeah, the sun’s all right. But the moon’s absolutely stunning. It’s feminine and mysterious, and there’s a whole side to it that no one ever sees.”

“Hm. What are you saying?”

“What I’m saying, Princess, is that you’re right.”

“…I’m right?”

“You’re smoke, and Ditto, and the moon. Because you’re strong and beautiful and free, and you’re completely adorable. You light up the darkness and you’re mysterious and you give people like me something to shine for.”


“You are an idiot sometimes, though.”


“Hey. Wanna know something else about the moon?”


“The sun will always be there to light it up.”


The trees were silhouetted against the moon. Two young women stood quietly together, watching the branches sway in the chilly nighttime breeze. And as they looked up at the sky, they saw their future in the stars.

Just like the stars, their future would be magical. They would be there always, until the end of time, and never (never) would they become mundane.

They would have a lifetime (more than a lifetime) of beauty. Of songs being sung softly on the guitar and dogs drooling on the floor. Of chipped green teacups filled with wine and old jars filled with rainbow paper stars.

make a wish.

The women shivered slightly, and wrapped their arms around each other. Another breeze blew some clouds over the stars, covering them up. But as the women looked into each other’s eyes, they saw the stars more clearly than ever. And they saw their future.

i love you.

always and forever.