the sky is drunk out of her mind; she and the horizon are fighting again. the ocean spits out seashells like alphabet soup and tells me that this time, it’s for real, they’re getting a divorce. the sky found out that the horizon has been fucking the sun. over tea the moon tells me that the sun deserves more, that the sun cries every night before he goes to bed. summers are hard on him.
she adds sugar to her tea and asks me about that aries i’m seeing. i sigh, wal labi men el ishara yafham. (he who understands, can understand from just a single signal).
later i go see the sun and bring him a box of chamomile tea and a sza vinyl. we lay on the floor and cry because no one loves us in the morning. he tells me he needs to go, it’s 6 a.m., he’s late. i know horizon called him and he’s lying, but i let him go because we will never experience true love anyway.
then i go back home. my aries sends me a picture of his dick and i send him my bloody heart in a fed-ex box. he asks me if i’m up and we go kiss atop a cliff and i spot sun and horizon back at it again just above us. a massive orgy of treachery and heartache, our hearts shriek so loudly the crickets are too afraid to stay around.
i, the taurus sun moon and mercury, go on with my day. i manage to make lunch out of mold and depression, down them with 5 bottles of filth and 3 shots of self-loathing. i crank up mashrou’ leila and blend into the grey area of nothingness that separates the westerns from the easterns, put on a cowboy hat and shoot empties while riding a camel with a balaclava sitting on my jaw.
for dinner i go to moon’s home. we sit in front of the tv with plates of nebula and watch sun and sky’s divorce case broadcast across galaxies. they get joint custody of the earth, their lawyer advises them to act civil during the day and take care of earth together, like a normal family, like they love each other as much as they love her. moon sighs because they never pay her enough when she babysits earth, and after the divorce it might get worse.
i get home really late, hitchhiking a ride on moon’s neighbour’s ufo. before going to sleep i smudge my mascara down my cheeks and text sun, “you never even loved her.”