My Cardboard Balcony

Midnight Walks by Belinda Roddie When the moon's wax drips onto my sweater sleeve, I feel the burn of celestial beings, of stars desperate to retain their shape despite their pseudo-eternal heat. There are gods and goddesses somewhere, I'm sure - suspended in a faint sunbeam, cradled in the arms of a galaxy, its veil drawn over its head, its fingerprints staining their skin. I'm frightened of the end, when I'll become dust in the vacuum of space. My psychology will not last long on that ethereal plane. There will be no sandwiches to eat, no bicycles to ride, no midnight walks to greet you at the street lamp, where fireflies light up their own universe, and spiders hide planets in their webs. The jets overhead take us only so far; when we touch the sidewalk, we are limited, but the moon melts above us. And when day arrives, we pretend that we're actually free.

She was supposed to be my greatest rival. The one person I could counter in the fighting ring. The challenge of my day. The brutal might against my steady endurance. And yet, there she was, sleeping half-naked in my bed, the room already heating up around our bodies. Why had I invited her in? And why had I been so enticed by her? How had it come down to this?