ORIGINS: We were leafing through an old book, and one of the pictures caught our eyes. It was a fish, with what we can only call rosy cheeks. Its name, as it was written in that book, was Damsel of the Two Moons, and since we didn’t like any of the other names we found for it, we won’t be mentioning them here. Those moons are not the make-up of a clown. If anything, they are the make-up of a bride, hence the korean attire. But somebody had to fetch the moon for that fish, and that’s where the lovesick fool usually makes an appearance. So, all’s well that ends well, we guess.
♪♪♪The moon. The moon. The moon. We deserve nothing less than the moon. Make it two. Lest we doubt your love for us. ♪♪♪
Sorry, my love. But if I didn’t ask the impossible, you would shower me with everyday little things. I love yous are quick to lose their shine, it’s a fact, and I am only willing to settle for moonlight.
You say that only I am missing in your life. But your love isn’t something I can breathe to feel complete, and you look happy enough to me. The mere thought of me puts a smile on your face, but nothing lifts the corners of my mouth. So, if you love me, don’t let me be the only fish out of water here. Catch me the moon. A pet to keep my misery company. Only then will I consider loving you back.
I have spent too long inside these four walls. My fins are rotting away. But I have come to accept that it is for my own good. The ocean is brimming with sharp, ugly teeth, and only starlight makes the darkness sufferable. What are you still doing here? Chop chop! Bring me the moon. Chop it into small pieces. And once I have replaced my scales and forgotten that the rot is still there, I will whisper the words you want to hear in your ear.
You must have misheard me. I didn’t ask for that moon. Can’t you tell how worn-out it is? I’m not interested in something that has been touched by so many eyes. It reeks of other people’s loneliness. You say that you love me, that you don’t have eyes for anybody else. Why would I be any different? I want a moon that’s beyond the reach of even the most desperate telescope. I deserve to know that your love for me is thousands of miles ahead of its nearest rival.
We have to get the moon at all costs. But it seems that nothing we do is enough to do the trick.
Damn heart. Why couldn’t you fall in love with somebody else? Nothing but the moon will ever do. And I don’t want to live the rest of my life knowing that I don’t measure up.
Stupid moon. Won’t you fall into my hands already! There are no wolves left in the wild. I have collared them all. I make sure that they howl at you day and night. What more do you want?
I gift-wrapped the clearest lake for her, but she didn’t want a dream that would only end in tears. I cut down an evergreen forest and, with the smell of life still lingering in the air, I made it into paper. I painted more than a thousand moons that wouldn’t fade away at the break of dawn. I didn’t leave a single phase out. But she wasn’t interested in my interpretation. Love had to be defined by her truths and her lies. She wouldn’t accept any other moon. And I am doing my best not to think where that leaves me.
The moon? You want the moon? If devotion is what you want, I will show it to you! Here’s the knife. You know where my entrails are, don’t you? That’s it, just a little bit lower than the heart you have already ripped out. I will make them into a net, and I will catch that fluttering moon for you. Will that be enough for you, my love?
We got our hearts’ desire. The moon. But now the spell has broken. The shine is lost. Our fish are all bones. And this is how we get on with our lives.
It took me a while, but I have made up my mind. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, my love. The sun. That’s what you should bring me, now that the moon already has my fingerprints all over it and I have seen all its imperfections.
Does this look like a chicken to you? No? You are right. It’s a dead fish, and only I get to wish upon its bones. So, here’s my next demand. I have been told that I was born with a frozen heart. That it broke, and the shards scattered to the winds. Look outside. It’s about to snow. And I am giving you a chance to prove that you really love me. You should have no trouble recognizing which snowflakes belong to me. Go. And don’t come back until you have found every last one of them.
You are back. Is that I see in your hands the moon? I thought I had made myself clear the last time, but it seems that you need me to spell it out for you. I have no use for the moon. I just wanted you out of my sight. Look at this dead fish. Can’t you tell that I prefer my own company?
Huh. Who would have thought that the moon would be just a piece of rock? I fell in love with its light. With its sheer tenacity. Remind me again, what was the word you used? That’s right. You told me that the moon would never give up hope. Just like you. But there’s not even a sliver of moonlight left, and I see no point in giving you your reward. Not now. But I will at least say thank you for letting me know.
We already caught the moon for our beloveds. What use do they have for us now?
Is this what being adrift feels like? What turning into dust and being blown far, far away by the wind feels like? I brought her the moon. I put a joyful crescent on her face. I fulfilled my purpose. Shouldn’t I at least get to leave some bones behind, to be remembered by?
They were right. What matters is not the destination but the journey. I wish I had never put the moon in her outstretched hands. I wish I could still lie to myself, and I could still look forward to all the tomorrows we would share. But I saw her face. I saw her smile. And there was nothing beyond that horizon. My journey came to an end. I had been dismissed.
I knew that it wouldn’t be smooth sailing. That there would be ups and downs. Because the moon waxes and wanes, and that is what she asked of me. I saw life as rough waters and high winds, and our love as the ballast that would keep us from tipping over. But the night isn’t an ocean where the moon floats. That darkness is closer to air than water. And in her eyes, I was nothing more than another sandbag she had to shed, to soar higher, in pursuit of her lifelong ambition.
I wish her nothing but happiness. A mermaid told me that that’s what love is, and my beloved asked for the moon. What would you have done? I couldn’t deny the resemblance. The pull. There is nothing bubbles dislike more than loneliness, and the moon is the strongest of them all. It called, and everything in me answered. And when my beloved smiled and that bubble burst, leaving only what she wanted to keep in her hands, I was happy for her.
It’s a pity, but what can you do? Translations are ugly abyssal fish with sharp teeth, that tear all the beauty to shreds. We could say that it’s gone down the drain, but that is not the image we want to conjure up. Let us say that the moon crashed. That now there is a well, and our happiness is at the bottom of it.
Why would I be upset? I am not in the habit of getting my hopes up. That way, when I cry, my puddle of tears remains shallow, and I am not at risk of drowning in it.
That’s easier said than done, little fish. Talk to me when your ocean dries up, and all that’s left is the darkness at the bottom of it. When swimming doesn’t do the trick anymore, and there are no walls closing in on you. When you are in despair, and there is no hope left. When you don’t feel like doing anything at all, not even breathe, because you bet everything on a happiness that’s not there anymore. Tell me to climb out of my well then, little fish. And if you manage to drag yourself out, I will follow your example.
Thank you. That’s the rope I have been waiting for. If it weren’t for your kind words, I still wouldn’t know that there are more fish in the sea. There are more stars in the night too. But, here’s the thing, none of them are the moon I spent my childhood pining for. The moon I built my dreams around. Those still matter to me, and coming across a replacement that actually fits the mold isn’t as easy as you make it sound.
What now? I can’t think of anything else I want. I can’t pluck another dream out of thin air. You can keep your heart for all I care. Wanting the moon, that was the water in my mouth. The sea where my fish swam. A beating heart is just a ticking clock. Time that goes by. But I need something to live for. And loving you just doesn’t cut it.
We can’t take it anymore. We need to feel useful again. There has to be another moon somewhere out there.
What stands in the way of your dreams? An opposing wind? A sea monster? Would you love me if I slew it for you?
What do you want? Don’t be shy, you can ask anything of me. Anything at all. Don’t leave! Please. I am sure that I must have at least one bone shaped like a crescent moon in this body of mine. If you give me a moment, I will wipe away the blood and gift-wrap it for you.
Do you like shiny things? I can’t give you the moon. But eventually all stars turn to dust, and I can be there, by your side, to sweep all your deserts before they swallow you up. I can cry, until you are surrounded by green, green hope, and you never feel like giving up those shiny things you love so much.
I can’t. I already caught the moon for somebody else and it didn’t work. That was my best, and it didn’t pay off. Now, there is nothing I have that somebody else can’t also give you. What I have left is easily replaceable. And if I loved you, I would believe with all my heart that you deserve better than that.