Under the Moonlight

4

I'd learned a thing or two from her since I met her at that exact sunset, and I'd never felt more confident sharing my illustrations with her, knowing I wouldn't be judged by what society has to offer.

From how she lives her life on the moon and being unknown to the reality on this planet, I find her marvelous and captivating.

But as the night grew colder, I began to pull my trusted blanket from my backpack, which piqued her interest and prompted her to ask me what it was.

"What is this thing?" she asked me as I brought out the blanket, folded in fours.

"This is what you call a blanket," I said to her.

"Is it your companion?"

"Yes," I answered modestly.

And as soon as I unfolded the blanket, she was enthralled by it, as it had expanded before her eyes instantaneously.

"Does it talk?" She asked but a rather queer question, much to her awe.

"Well, not all companions could talk, I'm afraid," I answered her question in the most real I could be.

"Then, what is the blanket for?" she asked me yet again.

"I use it for my own comfort whenever I feel cold," I told her as I put half of the blanket over her lap and half over mine.

"Oh! Is that so?" she responded with great interest.

"Well, back on my planet, I used to feel cold all the time," she added in a disheartened tone.

"I see... this blanket should help you out,"

"Up there feels so cold and desolate, but the quiet has always made me feel at peace."

The absence of sound, horns, and people conversing must've been the darndest thing I'd want to experience, complete silence from everyone, but at the same time, it must've felt very lonely...

"Why did you come down here anyway?" I asked her a question suddenly that had nothing to do with what we were talking about.

"I'm in search of a friend."

I was astounded by what she had said as I immediately looked at her, still surprised despite being around her for hours already as things started to become clearer.

We fell silent for a few moments as I began to write something in my drawing book, reflecting on what she had said.

Much to her curiosity, she took a skim of what I was writing down.

"What are you writing?" she asked me with such inquisitiveness.

She's a really nosy person, I must admit, but for that, I'm grateful, because at least there's someone inquisitive enough to know what I've been up to without fear of repercussions from harsh comments.

"I'll show you once I finish it," I told her, "does poetry interest you?"

And of course, with that question, I was always expecting a nay since poetry is a thing of the civilized, but much to my mellow self, I was caught thunderstruck by what she had said, which was:

"Yes."