By the light of the moon~

I sat by the light of the moon. It had been a long, long day and I owed it to myself to be gentle - at least for now. I let the breeze caress me, weaving its fingers through my hair and let my head rest against the wall. I sat by the light of the moon in my balcony, letting it wash over me like a soothing, calming wave at quarter past midnight, trying to convince myself that all was well and I was fine. Distant echoes of car horns reverberated in my ears, but the wind blew them away along with all my stress. Stars dazzled in the sky- maybe they sparkled because of wishes cast upon them. Maybe they shone to guide the wanderers hopelessly straying in the maze of despair. Or maybe they wore scintillating hope to reassure night-owls like me, to whisper lovingly, “Everything will be okay. You are safe. Just go to sleep.”

They never failed.

Next to me sat he. He, too, rested against the wall opposite mine. His head against the railing, long strands of his hair covered his forehead- they fell into place like puzzle pieces, his outline brilliant by the light of the moon. Eyelashes on his closed eyelids fluttered delicately: it was almost as if he was afraid to stir the dew drops of dreams resting divinely on them. It was angelic- the air, the night, the stars; I was able to appreciate this natural stillness because of all the comfort and consolation around me. His hair flickered lazily in the beautiful breeze and I was forced to ask myself the same question, yet again: What had I done to deserve this? This serendipity of solace, calm and love to piece me up every time I broke? Even now, I cried, hurt and screamed by the light of the moon and somehow -wonderfully- it felt like he called onto the moonbeams to help him stitch me back together, time and time again. The moonbeam wove itself through me: fragile streams of hope and security not only for the future, but for the present and the past, too. It was as if he arranged the constellations adorning the sky to taame the nightmares and yet appear to do it so effortlessly, gracefully and appreciatively. He carried himself with the eloquence of the moon not wearing him down but lifting him up: a rare halo of strength, a dainty symbol of transcendental glory.

A bittersweet feeling gripped me; I knew all of this would fade into my morning coffee- the sugary fragrance would melt the satisfaction into itself; the honey-like consistency of the forth would only last so long, the warmth even lesser; the relief would disappear fleetingly, waiting for no one. My willow would bend to its will and I would follow the path the stars pave for me.

This is what sitting by the light of the moon does to me. But it helps to know that I won’t be alone- there will be the stars, the breeze and there will be him. Every shade of helpless blue that painted my sky shone off him and there was relief in knowing that I was safe regardless of the melancholy and it was going to be okay.

Sitting by the light of the moon took me places in my head, searching desperately for hoaxes to believe in, to reassure myself that there existed the dove of peace that would take me under its wings for a blessed eternity, drawing halos around my scars. This would be it- the moonlight would softly sing lullabies to me and I would be safe forever. I would be safe forever.