ִ ࣪⋆˙⟡ . - ᘛ мσσиlιgнт ᘚ. .✦.ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🌕་༘࿐. ⟢ . 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ／ ⋆ ۪

━━━ ⠀ ㅤ𝟎.𝟎𝟏 ⠀ ⠀ ༝ ۫ ⠀ ⠀ ᭪

❛Even under the silver gaze
of the moon,
some things remain
destined to wither.❜

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 is bright, brilliant, and beautiful as it beams over my body, encasing me in a silvery glow.
There I lay, stretched out on my back in the wet grass, swallowed by the vastness of the open meadow - a place that felt stitched together from dreams and whispered myths.

I began to notice other things, small details about its majestic appearance.

Like how the grass, drenched in dew, shimmered exuberantly, resembling diamonds scattered across the earth.
How the greenery wore the condensation like a crown of jewels, proudly adorned like art displayed against a somber wall.

Yes, I thought to myself, that's it.
The grass wore its dew to showcase itself, as if it understood how plain it would otherwise seem.

Plain.
And tall.
Just withering in the wind.

A description I often affiliated with myself.
I was nothing special to look at, no one who stood out in a crowd.
I moved with it - just another face, another shadow, easy to overlook.
And even as I thought this, a pang of sympathy stirred in me, pitying the lonely blades of grass that mirrored my own existence.

But something else was rising inside me, a feeling subtle but persistent.
Each time I tried to shake it off, the world around me blurred, as if the dream fought to pull me deeper.
When I refocused, everything sharpened - vivid, impossibly real.

The sensation was strangely familiar, like the breathless déjà-vu of stepping into a memory you didn't know you had.
It hit me then, sudden and undeniable:

I was having a lucid dream.

Recognition bloomed inside me, a strange sort of relief.
Now aware that I was not truly awake, I took my time to absorb every detail.
I stood, feeling the wet grass clinging to my skin, the wind weaving through my tangled curls, frizzy from the damp.

Odd, I thought.

The sensations were almost too real - tangible in a way dreams rarely are.

But I didn't linger on it.
Instead, I let the playful gusts of wind dance around me, tugging and twirling as if whispering, Look at me, look at me.

I laughed - a small sound - but even it seemed distant, slipping away into the heavy hush of the meadow.
Everything was blurring again, my vision narrowing until only the moon remained.

Magnificent, radiant.

Its silver light spilled across the meadow, claiming it, blessing it - yet even in the moon's embrace, even adorned with diamond dew, the grass was still just grass.

Plain.
Tall.
And withering in the wind.

Just like me.