The Moon Inside of Me

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I'm Miss Lonely

“A little contempt saves a lot of hatred”
- Jules Renard.

The situation might have turned ugly, but another voice cut the silence from our minds.

- I like Luneta, suits you.

I smiled instinctively, not turning to face the stranger. It was the first time I felt that the sentence contained no irony. However, despite the tightness in my chest and the desire to stay, it was impossible to look at everyone there without feeling disgusted with the situation.

Ignoring the cell phones pointed at me and the security guard’s scowl, I crossed the crowd without looking back and only stopped when the train station was close enough to be linked with my arms.

Hot tears kissed my cheeks as my lungs worked at full speed to replace the air lost in the rush. There was no soul nearby, all the seats were empty, and even the street vendors were apart as if respecting my pain.

Clutching the pillar, I waited for the train bound for Turiaçu to arrive, and as soon as I began to see it on the horizon, something in my heart was tightening. Finally, I understood what had happened: Claudio, my only friend, the passion of my last years, had miserably humiliated me in front of those people.

And there was still that boy ...

The warm words he said about my name, the way he painted it as if it were something beautiful ... The memory of that moment acted as a small flame in my chest, warming all that pain and trying to soften it.

- Luneta? - I jumped, thinking that the voice had echoed so loud inside my head that it escaped into the open air. Turning around, I found those beautiful sapphires, shining a few steps behind me.

It was him.

I hadn’t noticed before, but there were a lot of black tribal tattoos sticking out of the edges of his shirt, from neck to arms, wrists, and hands. In the past, with the SDGC polo shirt in the dark and all the lights in the club, I couldn’t see it, but there in the bright light of the station’s many lamps, his features were clear as water.

He looked like a fallen angel, beautiful and delicate made of porcelain, but rebellious and dangerous as he approached, cutting off the few random people along the way. His hair was neat in one of those trendy hairstyles, with a large, carefully tousled tuft and a thin layer of fluff sprouting from his chin line.

The boy was so white that I looked very dark beside him.

- It's you right? - He insisted when there was no answer. “There were a lot of people in the club and the lights didn’t help, but I would never forget those eyes".

Did he just call my dull brown eyes “those eyes” with the tone of chocolate rivers?

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