short ramblings of a mentally unstable fire sign✨

unknown

Had a long talk with an old friend tonight. Not the kind of friend that I hang out with often or even at all, in a way. The kind that always lights up the night in cool white-blue tones and shines brightly enough to allow vision but never too bright.
Always just perfect.
The moon.
The moon's beautiful is that of no other, impossible to match, except by her. She shines and glows in ways that only the moon could ever dream of comparing to.
But that's another talk for another late-night soul-search.
As I write this I'm sat in a tall lawn chair in my backyard, open and bare, without a single tree to obstruct the view of my long-time friend millions and millions of miles above me. So far away, yet I see it every night, that is if the clouds don't coast into view.
But tonight it's perfect. Not a cloud in sight. Just the big, white orb that never fails to comfort and reassure me when I need it.
Always willing to hear my cries.
I vent to the moon.
I cry to the moon.
I complain to the moon.
I boast to the moon.
I joke with the moon.
I laugh with the moon.
I share frustrations with the moon.
I talk about the one I love to the moon.
And the moon never tires of my words. The moon never shuns me or turns me away. The moon is always there to greet me and my problems without protest.
(And no, not because I tied it to a chair and duct taped its mouth.)
Ever since I was a little girl I've had these midnight rendezvous sessions with the thing in the sky as a way of comforting myself after a nightmare or when my parents fought or when kids at school would bully me during the day or fights with friends.
I had neglected my friend for a while, until my freshman year of high school.
I had dated a boy and realized I didn't want to date a boy so I broke up with him and spun a story so he would be mad at me instead of being hurt. Bad move.
He began to spread around lies about me and called me names and had others do so as well. He told me to kill myself since I 'was always depressed and insecure anyway' and that no one would ever love a slut like me. One night, I nearly did so. I was ready to.
But then I noticed the moon through my window and strange as it sounds, it seemed to plead with me not to do anything to myself, to come to it, to talk things through with the night sky instead, like I would have years ago.
So I did.
And since then I've had many nights like that; considered taking my own life again, more than I care to admit.
But I talk to the moon.
And my heart settles and my mind clears and my frustrations with myself and with life relent, even though it isn't much, it's easier. My heart always feels a small bit lighter, just enough so that I can make it to see another day; another talk with my longest companion.