• That was a phrase I enjoyed using. I’ve always thought it was catchy. It sounded unique. Rather fun to say actually.
    As I hope you know, the moon isn’t blue. I don’t know anything about other moons in the solar system, I just know ours’ isn’t blue. I’ve never seen it blue, at least, though I have been told it is possible. I have seen it with some extravagant colours, but never blue.
    I never did check, but I do believe the moon was blue that final night.
    There was a time that I used that phrase to make myself feel better.
    “Our relationship will crumble when the moon becomes blue.” I’d whisper to myself in the darkness, alone in a bedroom. “Once in a blue moon.”
    I believed our relationship was more than just a relationship. It was an entwining of two broken lives that formed together to build a stable life. Without one life both would crumble to their original state. The broken, pathetic state of a lost human who needed to find their way.
    That is what I used to believe. He told me he believed the same. I could see it in our lives, we needed each other.
    This was why I believe our relationship would only crumble when the moon turned blue.
    I will not tell you our relationship was perfect. A relationship is never perfect. That defies human nature.
    We had our days where we simply did not see eye to eye. Sometimes one of us, or both of us were in a bad mood and that mood would clash with the other.
    Never were we afraid to fight. We knew we’d make up after we let out whatever was bothering us.
    Some days our disputes would cause us to avoid each other at school, ignore the other’s calls and IMs, sometimes this went on for a couple days. Then as randomly as the argument came up we would be fine again.
    I will tell you those days we were separated I felt horribly alone. Close to the loneliness I felt when he found me. He rescued me from the bloody wounds and everlasting scars of my past.
    The nights I spent without him I’d mainly think about two things. The first being the fact that the moon was not blue despite my soul being a dark blue, like a bruise. This fact made me know that we’d be back together again. My second thought always went back to the day fate brought us together.
    Maybe if I ever told a therapist about the depressing day that almost ended my life and how it made me smile, they would label me insane.
    Nevertheless, I knew I had to be insane, but I was alive, so I didn’t mind where my sanity was at.
    I know I said there was no such thing as a perfect relationship, yet somehow I would call our relationship close to perfect. It had its flaws, but I thought it was perfect.
    Lately, I started to think we were coming close to being as perfect as we could be. Now that I was seventeen, I was legally free of Social Services.
    For those who don’t understand, that meant I was free of those wretched foster homes and group homes. Most of those places were truly horrible. The government may tell you their purpose is to offer a safe environment for children.
    I will tell you this much, most aren’t safe and tend to do more damage on already screwed up children. My stories from these homes will remain mine. This way you won’t ever know what happens under the roofs of these safe homes.
    Many people told me it was stupid to move in with my boyfriend. They said it would mess things up and we wouldn’t be able to get along.
    We had been living in a small yet nice apartment for a few months now. I admit we argued about silly things but each argument seemed to strengthen us.
    Those nights I’d feel depressed or when I’d wake up at three in the morning from a nightmare, he would be right there to hold me and make me feel so much better.
    Having him be there made all my problems disappear and I’d feel alright, strong enough to survive this life. That’s the way I felt the day I met him, how I’ve felt everyday of my life since then and I believed he felt the same. Or at least he felt that way until the night the moon turned blue.
    Maybe this story would be best understood if he told you what happened. Unfortunately only I can tell you. At least this way you might understand why I did what I did. Maybe you will feel the brokenness the moon caused.
    It was late, I was sitting on the couch curled up with a book. My mind was more focused on when he would be returning home. The longer he was away the more depression got the better of me. I know this sounds pathetic, but it is the truth. I suppose this shows how weak I am without him. In a sense he was a savoir to me.
    Finally, the front door opened and there he was.
    I could tell something was bothering him. The way the door opened, the way he walked, the simple fact he didn’t remove his shoes.
    We had been together for over three years, I knew something was on his mind. I didn’t even have to see the grim look on his face to know he was bothered by something.
    I closed my book, placing it on the floor far too distracted to care where I put it.
    He sat down on the couch with a few inches between our bodies. He placed his elbows on his thighs, then rested his face in his hands.
    Silence lay between us for a moment as I studied him. Tonight it appeared as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
    “Love, what is bothering you?” I asked, allowing the concern to show in my voice.
    He adjusted his position so his eyes were no longer on the floor, they were now on the blank television in front of us.
    “Nothing.” He mumbled.
    I said nothing. I could hear it in his voice and see it on him, whatever it was, it wasn’t nothing. I chose to stay silent. If he wanted to share with me what was bothering him, he would.
    A few minutes of silence passed between us, while I stared at him with deep concern.
    Finally he turned to me. His eyes seemed to reflect many emotions at once.
    “I can’t do this…” He said to me.
    Confusion spread over my face. Again I chose to stay silent letting him speak of his problem at his own pace.
    Obviously he saw the confusion and decided to explain a bit more.
    “This life. I don’t know if you’ve felt it but I’ve always felt like something was missing, something wasn’t right. I don’t know today I guess I’ve thought a lot about the past few years…” He said.
    His words made my heart feel like it had just broken in half. Occasionally that’s how he made me feel. I guess that’s the result of having a heart that’s been broken, broken more and then broken even more. Even though it sometimes felt like he broke my heart again he was the only one who knew how to mend it.
    Yet his words seemed different tonight. Like they were intended to hurt me. There have been days where he talked about how he regretted his past and I assumed that’s what he was doing now.
    I sighed. It was unsure to me where his words were going. I wanted to tell him I didn’t regret these past years. To say he was the one who saved me. He meant everything to me and I loved him dearly.
    Instead I didn’t say anything along those lines. I didn’t want to alter his current train of thought. I wanted to know what was on his mind at this very moment.
    I took a second to choose my words carefully. Not wanting to change any of his thoughts but wanting to get out whatever was on his mind.
    “There’s a lot missing…” I wanted to add a cheesy line like, “You aren’t missing at least,” I didn’t though. I’m not really one to always express how I feel. Trust issues I guess. Maybe it’s a stupid thing to do, but its just how I am.
    He nodded. “I know, I know,” He told me, returning his head to his hands. “I’ve been wanting to tell you something…” He mumbled to the wooden floor beneath us.
    I gently touched his arm, causing him to look up at me. “Well I’m here, so please just tell me,” I pleaded. A fear bubbled in my stomach as I studied his hollow eyes. Something was wrong, I could see it on him. Something was desperately wrong. I just couldn’t understand what.
    Once again silence hung between us. In the air tension was strengthened with each second that passed by. He wanted to say something. He needed to say something.
    It felt as though hours past but I knew it had to be only a few minutes.
    He stood up, turned and glued his eyes to the door he had entered not long ago.
    “Us…Something isn’t right…I can’t feel your love anymore. Maybe its really my love that cant be felt but I can’t feel you. This isn’t right, maybe it never was.” He told me as he walked to the door. His feet echoed on the floor boards, his body moved in slow motion.
    I felt his words slice through my heart. Not just my heart but my soul. The purpose of my existence was walking away. My body numbed. I couldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t move, could barely breathe.
    Everyone that I wanted to stay seemed to walk away one day but I believed he was different. Yet he was on his way out the door. He’d walked out before, but not like this. I could tell he was going for good.
    Maybe if I had spoken, said just how much he meant to me, he’d stay for a little bit longer. Eventually he would leave though, he wanted to be free. My words would only slow him, not stop him.
    So I guess what I believed about the entwining of two broken lives was wrong. Yes, two broken lives had entwined to create a strong one but obviously it didn’t work as I thought. One life gained all the strength, while the other only absorbed the strength when it was there. When the strong life left, they would untwine and the weakest wouldn’t be able to survive.
    I heard his feet stop at the door, I looked up to see his back to me, ready to leave.
    “I guess the moon is blue tonight,” I whispered, finding enough strength to speak.
    He door opened and before it closed behind him I heard him say, “I guess it must be.” He knew what the saying meant to me. He must have known what he meant to me.
    If he had stopped and took one last look at me he would see I loved him. He would see the desperation I had for him, the pain he caused me. Or maybe he didn’t want to see, he wanted to leave.
    I told you the moon isn’t blue, I also told you that our relationship would not crumble. So what do I know about anything?
    I did not bother to look out the window to see the colour of the moon. I no longer cared what was in this world. Without him the world was not worth living in. I wasn’t made for this life, not without him around to keep me strong.
    I lay on my bedroom floor, in the dark. My chest rose and fell with each breath. On my chest was a small handgun, it moved with each painful breath of air.
    This may sound pathetic to feel the need to die because I was now alone. Though maybe if you knew the day he found me I was minutes from taking my life, you’d understand. That’s when I began to live for him. The two of us together was the reason for my continued existence. I thought he knew and understood that.
    Of course, again I was wrong.
    I closed my eyes as memories flooded back. The past three years. All the times I had smiled, because he was there. Every time he held me because I was hurting, or just because he could.
    The day we met. I could remember every detail of the first time we were together.
    I had been alone, sitting in the corner of the garage. I had been missing all day. Not that anyone really cared.
    I began to relive the memory. My pocket knife was in my hand. My arms dripped blood. The blade of my knife had a red tint to it now. It was all my blood. My eyes focused on my arms, every single cut, had some kind of story. A story that no one cared to hear, no one would understand. My life would end soon, and no one would get the chance to hear it. I was ready. I was done. Soon to be gone. I studied my arms, staring at each vein.
    I didn’t hear him come in. I hadn’t been paying attention.
    Suddenly there he was, crouched down in front of me. There was concern in his eyes. A concern I had never seen before. My heart skipped a beat at the scare. I looked at him confused. He went to my school, was friends with one of the boys living here.
    His hand reached for the knife and I didn’t resist. The knife slipped from my hand, he closed it and placed it in his pocket. No words were spoken in this exchange.
    Our eyes locked for a minute, only a minute. And then his eyes were on my arms. Studying all of the self inflicted wounds.
    Silence hung between us. I didn’t know what to do, what to say or even what to think. The expression on his face showed he cared, he was concerned, for me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone was truly concerned for me. The world had given up on me.
    As quickly as he had come he left.
    I was alone again. My heart returned to its normal beat and I sat there staring at what I had done to myself. I was still confused but there was something I knew. I didn’t want to die anymore. I wanted to live. To see what other surprises life could throw at me.
    Only a few minutes had ticked by and there he was, again. He returned with a sort of first aid kit that he had hastily made in the minutes he had left me. Still neither of us spoke. I was wondering how he had gathered these materials from the house without anyone questioning him.
    Without a word he began cleaning my arms, wiping away all the blood. After that he wrapped them in bandages, careful not to hurt me. While he did this I studied him with curiosity. Not understanding why this complete stranger was helping me.
    “Did the pain make you feel better?” He asked me when he finished.
    I stared at him blankly. Finally I shook my head. “I wanted to die…”
    Concern was still on his face, but he flashed me a smile. “You wanted to….Do you anymore?” He asked.
    The memory began to fade. As long as I had him by my side I didn’t want to die. But he was gone. He had walked out the door. Just like everyone else who I hoped would stay. The one who had saved my life had just taken it away. I couldn’t live anymore.
    My hand reached for the gun. I was ready this time. I was done. There was no one left to stop me. No more reason to see what tomorrow would bring. My finger clenched the trigger. It would all be over soon. No more pain. No more struggling. No more crying. No more scars of the past. No one left to ask what my story was. I was gone.