I stand in a playground in the moonlight, which casts its silver glamour on the whole city. The hillside twinkles with artificial stars, pinpoints of yellow in the moon's silver lake.
I stand with my friend in Oberon's ballroom. The faeries dance around us and within us, sublimating my desire to dance with her. The world comes to a sudden, silent freeze as the Lord Oberon extends his hand to the Lady Titania, as I extend my eccentricities to you. With open palms the Lord of Fey and I extend our hearts to the Lady in the moonlight, asking her to dance.
She accepts. The faeries burst into wanton chaos as the music plays, and the Lord and Lady of the night set argument aside and for one moment move as one. You and I walk down the hill, dancing in our own way. Our dance is set to Explosions in the Sky and our ballroom is a merry-go-round. We dance not with feet, but with words, neither leading, neither following. We draw close to one another as we trip the light fantastic, sharing an intimacy reserved for moonlit nights and budding friendships.
By the end of the night, our fingers will meet with platonic intent. The music will awkwardly stop as we stand hand-in-hand beneath the spotlight. Our conversation will develop two left feet, and my arm will go numb. Puck has played a wicked trick tonight. What was once magical will suddenly become mundane in the harsh yellow glow.
As quickly as it began, the dance will dissolve. Oberon and Titania will have parted ways once more. The ballroom will be cleared of all frivolous spirits. The music will stop and the instruments put away. The merry-go-round will spin vacant. You will go home, and I will stay here. All that is left is moonlight.
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Holy shit. That was beautiful.
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