MOON Fly Meto

“I’m not sure that my mind could create one greater than my own.”

“You flatter yourself.”

And with a faint laugh, reality begins to fade. All around me grows white, shapes merging. For a moment only her smile remains, and then the light pierces my eyes. I awoke to a levity in my chest, my heart buoyant. The memory of her lightened my steps. Of course, I knew she wasn’t real, but I reveled in this foolish, hopeful joy.

The next few days passed quickly, recalled only as brief flashes of autumnal colors and vague murmurs. The nights, however, grew far more interesting; my modest room became freely molded by my dreaming mind into impossible vistas, full of the words of deranged characters. She appeared in all my dreams, always a source of comparative lucidity and insight. I remember a dream in which I was attempting to steal the Mona Lisa. She was a security guard, convincing me with a detailed argument that the piece was not the original. Her rationale was delivered with a logic that might’ve convinced most scholars. In each dream her surroundings were only impressionistic renditions of reality, yet she was always in perfect detail. The days passed me by, as if I were merely peering into their warped reflection in a river. Only one moment remains within my memory.

I was waiting in a long bakery queue when I saw her. I looked once more, then twice again. There was no mistaking the figure. Few things can excite me more than a croissant, but I abandoned my sentinel in the queue and ran to her.

“I knew my mind couldn’t have produced you!” I say, unthinking.

She stares at me, puzzled, faltering to find any adequate response. I suddenly realize what I’ve said, feeling my insides contort into a ball of embarrassment. She laughs, her voice deep yet melodic.

“Just kidding, I know what you mean,” she said. “I’ve appeared in your dreams, too?”

“You have,” I say. A part of me understands how bizarre this situation is, yet it feels entirely natural.

“Sorry,” she chuckles, amused. “Your dreams are quite entertaining, exceptionally childish.”

I’m not sure whether to take offence or thank her.

“I have to tell you something,” She says, growing serious. “Meet me tonight.”

I agree and walk home with a spring in my step. I head out onto the balcony, vaguely aware that I never even knew I had one, and she’s waiting there for me. The city lies beneath us, thousands of lights drawing its faint outline. The moon is large tonight, or perhaps it’s simply near.

She looks at me. “You still haven’t convinced me that I’m real.”

I’m startled. “I’m wide awake, I’ve seen you interact with others – how couldn’t you be?”

“Perhaps your eyes deceive you, and nothing exists.”

“I know not to trust my eyes when I’m asleep, but this seems to match reality.”

“But your eye tells you what surrounds you is real; it identifies the reality it wants to.”

I open my mouth to retort as my surroundings begin to fade. The moon grows brighter until its light consumes me. Once more I am awake. I check the date, and realise the last few days have not elapsed.

I leave the house for some air, and the chill night pierces my bones. A loss fills me; my heart is light again but now with a hollowness. For a moment, I feel as if she’s behind me – I turn my head to see only empty space. Half of me is convinced she’s real, the other knows she never existed at all, that she never will. I stare at the sky. The moon is small tonight, or maybe it’s distant, unreachable. No trick of the mind can draw it nearer, no thought could compel it to change size. Reality stands still, and she sits just beyond.

[Harvey Olden - he/him

- @dapperyoungfool]

Every year I make myself promises to grow or improve some aspect of my life. And every year, most of these promises end up being unfulfilled. I won’t be the only one to go through this same cycle of wanting to better myself, and ultimately leaving them in the dust with the old year. So why do we continue to make ourselves half-empty promises, and how exactly can we truly make good on them?

Personally, I love making New Year’s Resolutions. I like the idea of constantly growing as a person and setting myself goals to accomplish. Whether that is related to getting fitter and stronger at the gym (not going as planned), saving for a house (on track), getting an A1 on an essay (yet to be seen), or writing my novel (what novel?), I pretty much make a resolution for everything.