The Water Moon


I came looking for love… and I’d found heartbreak instead.

Showered by twinkling stars and serenaded by the whir and burr of nearby restaurants, we sat by the harbour in total silence; our attentions ensnared by the reflection of the moon shimmering upon the river. You called it the water moon. I called you beautiful under the glow of moonlight. Seduced by the romanticism of the moment, I allowed myself the folly of imagining a future life well lived and enjoyed by your side.

It’s funny how when you become infatuated with someone, every quirky thing they do or say somewhere proves they’re the one for you. She still buys records; we’re soulmates. She takes photographs of the night sky; we’re kindred spirits. She only wears vintage clothes; we’re meant to be. Now, in the long run, such pretentiousness would really tick you off. But, in the magical haze of infatuation, it proved that the two of you were destined for true love.

Completely caught up in fantasy, I’d forgotten about reality… she wasn’t my girlfriend or my lover. Under the guise of hanging out, I invited her out for a midnight stroll with the hope of igniting our love affair with a kiss. Horror. My lips only grazed hers for a second before she was recoiling back with a wince. I blamed the lunge on the alcohol and the seduction of the moment. But, my clumsy rationalisations did very little to smoulder the burning truth – she didn’t feel the same way about me. Feeling guilty that I soured the evening, I offered to walk her home. She declined.

I came looking for love… and I’d found heartbreak instead.

3 of 4…


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