Pink Moon

Full moon diaries #4

What a day for an ending. The first full moon of spring was hidden somewhere behind the gable roofs of Lewin Road and red wine stained the corners of my mouth, clinging to my skin, the taste, the texture. Me, Ella, swimming around in vivid thoughts upon leaving the warm embrace of Mary’s flat.

I guess winter is really over now. The soil has turned up primroses and tulips; the forget-me-nots are dragging themselves along concrete walls up towards the wary sky. Soon the whole world will be smothered by colour and there will be nothing to remember of the emptiness.

My alarm clock tweets at me to get up but I wait. That cheap shiraz swirls behind my eyes. There is blood everywhere. I think it is beautiful. Twelve hours later, Mary, Kat and I are on the same old corner after book club and there is something in our words that tastes like beginning.