𓆩♡𓆪
The moon was there. The moon loved her. The stars blended around, little dots in the sky as bright as her neighbour sun.
But still nothing compared to her.
Even not seen, even invading the light, time she wasn't supposed to appear. To her the moon was comfort, was the muse, was the profoundest way to think of the only thing she couldn't decipher: love. The holes punched in the old surface, the round features, the need to be seen, the need for no screen. In silver she survived, in silver she cried and showed melancholy. But in argent she lived, she sung and danced in the abysmal blue that would be void without her.
The moon.
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𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓼
Random𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓼 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓽𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮, 𝓽𝓸 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓮𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮, 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓶𝓪𝓷𝔂 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓪𝓰𝓪𝓲𝓷. imagines, t...
