Rises and Sets

We share the same sky, yet we hardly ever see each other. He rises only when I set, though sometimes you can see me lingering in the predawn hours while he peeks over the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of his glorious face. I can never manage to stay around long enough to view anything other than a cheek, an eyelash, the tip of a strong chin. I always wonder why it seems like he is so scared to be seen with me. It’s not like I have any hope of outshining his brightness. Even when my face is lit round and full; when Venus herself pales to my bright white glory, I can never shine as bright as he does.

To hear me speak this way, some might assume I am jealous. I am not. I have long ago accepted that he is in another league than my own, a whole spectrum above me. 

I take comfort in my shadowy ways, my waxing and waning and ever changing status. I am the one who lights the way home, who celebrates with you on Halloween night, who is there to peer through your window with a reassuring steady glow when you can’t sleep at 2am. On cloudy nights, you cannot see me, but just like him, I am always there regardless. 

Do people hold midday celebrations, in the embrace of his full face, like they do under my watch at midnight? Does he feature in songs and stories of lost heroes and heroines? No, he is only known for burning Icarus’s wings to ashes. I may not be the North star, but I can light up the night sky like a flame.

So, okay, maybe I am a little bit jealous.

I mean, why does he get all the glory? He is the one who burns flesh, who spans heat exhaustion, who dehydrates and dries out. 

I am the one who shines bright but doesn’t burn, who changes like the humans do, who marks the passage of time. All he can tell you is that oh look, it’s time to get up! But can he tell you when a fortnight has passed? A month? A season?

No. Of course he cannot. That’s my job. 

And now that you mention it, I AM tired of taking a back seat to his shining face, to his everlasting glow. Worshiped and revered. Honestly, after millenia of this, it gets old. 

I don’t even know the guy, yet I can’t help but assume that he is an arrogant a-hole too proud to show his face to lowly nighttime me. In the beginning, I made friendly overtures, trying to make conversation, trying to catch his eye - not like that, I’m not a tramp. Just trying to be companions in this plane of existence, you know? Yet he never glanced my way, never replied, never returned my shy wave. So you know what? I am annoyed that he gets all the attention, all the celebrations, all the excitement. Yay, summer solstice is here, thank god it’s summer and the sky is clear. Never do I get remarked upon like that. Never are humans glad for longer nighttime, for extra opportunities to see my face. And maybe you think this is a love story, that I am secretly pining for his heart, yearning to see all of his handsome face. Then you would be wrong. You can’t love a stranger, let alone a stranger who ignores you, and at the same time lords his light over you. Like a giant middle finger in the sky, directed to me, every time he shines at midday. 

So I plot my revenge. 

There is a time of day, or night - maybe call it dawn, or dusk, that our paths cross from the opposite side of the sky. This is when I will take him down. While he shines and I rest, I think and plan and get ready to execute. I sharpen my blade on a whetstone, and practice my aim. 

Then one early spring morning, one of those clear dawns that seem open with possibility, I take aim and throw. 

The knife lands perfectly in the middle of his forehead, and he flares and shrieks and cries. The lands down below are scorched and ruined in his fury. In his death throes he finally turns his face full on to me, and I blink at the brightness. He looks shocked, like he never expected lovely, lowly me to be capable of such an act, and for a second, I regret it. Then he sparks and shatters and splits and the sky lights up as he explodes and dies. And then the world goes dark and I shine all on my own. I wait for the relief of the humans of not needing sunscreen, of not seeing their sins in the light of day. Instead I get wails and curses, and sobs, as they turn their backs on me. 

So now I shine for the stars, for the distant planets, for the memory of the sun, and for myself in all my misplaced arrogance. And I pass the time by waxing and waning, and glowing and existing, all by myself. And I realize that without an opposite, without a counterpoint, I don’t know what my purpose is anymore. 

After an eon, I get tired from no rest, and lonely with only the infantile stars to tell me stories, and the loss of the humans celebrating my glow leads me to ponder my own existence. What is my purpose, if not to shine only at night? What is my duty if not to light the way home for the humans lost in the dark? What is dark without no light? What is night without no day? What is the moon without the sun? Am I even here at all? 

We shared the same sky for ages, yet we hardly ever saw each other. He rose only when I set, and now neither of us rise or set at all anymore. I used to watch him peak over the horizon hoping to catch a glimpse of his glorious face. I could never manage to stay around long enough to view anything other than a cheek, an eyelash, the tip of a strong chin. The forehead that I split with a moon sharpened knife.  I always wondered why it seemed like he was so scared to be seen with me.