rising sun winter moon

[k1u8k5]

https://suno.com/song/d240418a-c1d0-42e8-b321-abd6ab44e604

Written in the long hours
between yesterday and today,
where memory folds itself
into the shape of two women —
one young as a rising sun,
one old as a winter moon.

Yugia,
all fire and sharp edges,
a storm wrapped in martial arts and laughter,
could shatter me with a sentence
and still leave me wanting her approval.
She once raged so fiercely
I walked the city for hours
just to quiet the echo of her voice.
At Ringen,
a white sweatshirt with gold threads
waited like a peace offering.
She saw it,
and her face lit up
as if forgiveness had been sewn
into the seams.

The Countess,
seventy‑five and unashamed,
carried her years like a crown.
She spoke boldly,
laughed loudly,
and lived as if time itself
were her loyal servant.
Two women,
fifty years apart,
yet somehow mirrors —
each with a gravity
that pulled at me differently.
Between them
stood my own history:
awkward years,
body questions,

identity questions,
the nurse who panicked
when I spoke of changing myself,
as if transformation were a threat
instead of a truth.
Yugia frightened me
not with fists
but with the possibility
that I mattered to her.
She could scold me all day
and still say,
“You make me feel so evil,”
and I would answer,
“I love you anyway,”

because it was easier
than admitting I didn’t know
what love meant.
One winter day
we cried together
for hours,
two people unraveling
in a quiet room
no one else entered.
A strange sanctuary
built from fear,
forgiveness,
and the weight of things
never said aloud.

The Countess,
in her tiny apartment
filled with old Beatles records,
offered a different kind of refuge —
one made of stories,
wine,
and the warmth of someone
who had lived long enough
to stop pretending.
And somewhere between them
stood me,
trying to understand
why I was drawn to one,
afraid of the other,
and still searching
for the shape
my life was supposed to take.