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  • Writer's pictureLippy

your love has bloomed a garden in my mind

A creative piece by Sage Hamon

When Sol opens her eyes, she finds herself placated by the intense stare of the girl nestled in the rapture of her arms. Awaking in the darkness, the slow trickle of streetlamps and drunken fellows stumbling home caresses the slightly open window frame. The side effects of bustling night life are unnoticed by the frozen girl. She feels like she’s stuck in quicksand, being dragged slowly down deeper into her best friend’s eyes. She let out a steady breath, trying to remind herself that this was still possible, she was still alive. Even as the girl beside her tries to tear this breath from her lungs. Looking up to her, half-drunk still.

Maybe she was drunk too. Finger weaving out of the press that had formed through their bodies. Choosing to settle into the warmth; pressing across the lines of the others face. They’d remain in silence. Simply drinking in the actions, the comfortable movements that settle matches into the pit of her stomach. Threatening to explode with the click of a finger - or if Luna chose to look at her that way again.

She’d promised herself that she could stop playing into this game.

The feeling would initially bowl her over her own feet. Feeling like she was thrown upwards, tossed to fall on her head. Out of control. There’s a special smile that her best friend throws out when she’s absolutely ecstatic about something. These days, it seems like Sol is the only one who is on the receiving end of such looks. It first happened when they both gained entrance to their current school. Luna would take her hand, ready to dance and scream at the top of her lungs with excitement.

It would slowly crawl across her face as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

She was an enchantress. It was confirmed.

She’d flee from her friend, ready to phone her parents to share the happy news. But Sol would be stuck, frozen in the same position as when she first saw that smile. She’d been run ragged; ready to admit that she’d experienced a heart attack.

Why was her heart feeling like that?

Her heart was ready to jump out of her chest and run straight after the young woman.

For a second or two, as she lay beside the one person who often took centre stage in her best dreams, Sol would forget why she chose to force those feelings into the dark.

She’d let herself fall a few feet deeper into eternity.

Sol had been good; she’d been great in fact. Maybe she was allowed to make a mistake or two, Maybe that look in Luna’s eyes was familiar for a reason. Maybe she was feeling something that Sol had gained plenty of experience in.

“Why didn’t you let me kiss you?”

The words spring a visceral reaction and Sol must stop her eyes widening further. She was surprised, shocked, even though this had been the only thought that had played on her mind throughout the whole night.

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured, they were all watching.”

Sol feels the pressure of the smaller arms wrap around her shoulders, curving their spine up from the bed so that Luna could awkwardly tuck her head against her own. It felt secretive, as if these coming words were only for them. Sending internal middle fingers to whoever may be listening in on their late-night discussion.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while.”

She’ll sag, like she had been holding built-up tension a century of pining. Of looking but not touching. Touching wasn’t allowed. Instead, she’d find herself sitting complacent and monotonous trying to build up a mask of happiness as Luna left to meet man after man. That evil, little inner voice whispering coyly into her ear, reminding her what she would never have. So instead, this would have to be enough.

“I still want to kiss you.”

She’s taken charge, manipulating Sol’s body like a doll who enjoys playtime. She’s loose, malleable to whatever Luna wants of her. She silently waits, still unsure if this was real or some cruel game that her brain was playing on her.

Her Luna looks determined.

And in a sense, this puts Sol’s mind at ease. Her tongue darting out to press moisture onto her lips after they suddenly dried. Seemingly, she was not the only person who had come across this specific scenario before. Sol would force herself away from the questions that turned to darts penetrating her brain. Sharp and painful in their nature as they niggle at the calmness of the situation.

She was allowed to be in the moment for once.

She wasn't forced to make a decision after all. The multitudes of spider webs permeating Sol’s brain would scatter into nothingness with the touch of Luna’s hand on her cheek. Her eyes quickly redirecting to hers as Luna chuckles to herself, slowly dragging their lips together like she was trying to approach a deer in headlights.

It just fits.

The only phrase that floats into existence through the blank slate that had been created. Luna’s hands become needier, cradling her jaw like it was some precious new discovery that could crack with the slightest accidental movement. Before this point, Sol felt like if she touched her best friend, the woman would shrivel into dust. But that was just another fragment of her imagination; this was different.

Sol will wrestle her hands up to the backs of Luna’s shoulders clenching fingers into the fabric of her shirt as she falls deeper still.

Unbashfully, she’ll groan into the other young woman’s mouth. Greedy as her sensations light up like a sparkler in the dark, unconsciously noting down the way that Luna’s leg tangles against her own. Staying connected in this way even when they break away, and Luna tucks away a fly away behind Sol’s ear.

This time, she’ll join in.

Her grin feels like it’s trying to split open the sides of her head. Opening it wide so that a tiny Seo Jiwan clone can climb inside.

It’s as if her Luna hasn’t already been the only thing she thinks about.

When she tucks her best friend back into the crook of her arm, Luna will whisper, her words falling like petals against her ear lobe.

“Will you let me kiss you again?”


In the morning, Sol will be subjected to weekly critiques. Their professor surveying the work, placing a finger against pursed lips to fully understand the majesty of the wide painting. It was a different medium to the one that the young woman usually favoured. Justifying the sudden shift as an initial visualisation, she was planning. A sculpture would come along soon.

“It’s a spray of colours full of passion. The large strokes remind me of love,”

She’d turn.

“Am I correct? Were you thinking about someone that you love when painting, Sol?”

Sol would allow her eyes to trail away; Luna encompassing the corner of her vision.

“Yes. Something like that.”


Words and imagery: Sage Hamon


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