The Moon

Everything is grey at night. Sometimes, if you're lucky, a gleam of blue will paint the world with its colour, making the scene less morbid. I always found this particular pigmentation depressing. I seem to associate it with loneliness. Such a cold and harsh feeling. Despite that, I never fail to find beauty in said loneliness. It resides in small blips of light. In my years of wondering, I have discovered man refers to them as stars. Stars: such a peculiar concept. Burning hot, quadrillions of miles away, most of them being already dead by the time humanity becomes aware of their existence, others struggling to uphold a righteous position in the cosmos, only to be perished a few million years later. Yet man romanticizes them. He places wishes upon them. It's as if he is charmed by their tragedy. Most extraordinary. And that is exactly, where I think their beauty stems from. Belief. One could easily equate belief with magic. Both are as easily described as they are understood. There is such beauty in belief. In magic. Who would have thought, that such little blips in the night sky could bring so much happiness to a lonely soul like mine...imagine my surprise when I saw it. It looked like a star, only it wasn't a blip. It was majestic, big, astounding. So beautiful. Magic was radiating from it, you could feel it oozing with strange energy...some people call it I think...love? It must have been love. It didn't lift my heart immediately however. After our first meeting, it took a long time for the moon (yes, that's what they call it) to make my cold, broken heart beat again. I wasn't alone anymore. Such wonderous feeling the sense of belongingness...so rare. I loved the moon, and the moon loved me. We were so happy. But I grew scared. What if the moon leaves? What if the moon discovers that I am not good enough? What will happen then to my nights...will they return to the lifeless grey? Or to that awful blue? I was being unfair...the moon loved me with all of its being. I felt as if all of its mysterious energy was only focused on me, and me alone. I was draining it, and I didn't realize. I was enjoying the love too much to notice. I became greedy. I demanded its rays to shine only on me, not only now and in the future, but in the past as well. The moon cried over that many a night...until one evening like all the others, the moon didn't show. I looked everywhere for it, I asked every living being in the universe, yet no one was to tell me where it went. They had observed the injustice. The moon had left me. It wanted to be happy...it would be happier without me. It was as if the blips of happiness called stars even spelled it out for me in the night sky...It will be happier without you...the pain was unfathomable. I started running on mortal land. I hoped the wind across my face would crush my skull, but it was nothing but a mere breeze. I hoped my legs would bleed and rip on the rocks and the grass, yet it felt like a gentle touch. Nothing could distract me from the pain in my soul. I must have been running for years, when suddenly I felt the ground underneath my legs vanish; I hadn't realized in my grief that I had gone over a well, and I was now sinking into its depths. Almost wishing the blow of my body hitting the bottom of the well would bring me the sweet release I was dreaming of, I raised my eyes into the sky, and suddenly I felt my heart stop. The moon was showering everything with its rays again. It was standing tall in the middle of the sky, and all the stars were eager to talk to it. They were laughing...it was laughing. So it is true, I thought to myself. The moon is happier without me. That brought a smile to my face and tears to my eyes. There was nothing more beautiful than to see it happy. Such beauty. I knew that one day perhaps another being would touch the moon, and maybe they won't drain it. Maybe they would supply it with the energy it needs to become truly magnificent. I heard my body hitting the bottom of the well, and I knew I wouldn't be around to see that day. It didn't matter. Cause for the last time, I was looking at my moon, and I was happy.