TiaZabaneh
- Reads 1,329
- Votes 58
- Parts 27
Sometimes, I talk to the moon.
I sit by my shattered window, with my feet dangling off the edge, and I talk to her.
The moon is a silver halo in the lonely sky. The soft whispers of my voice fill the silence of my room when the clock strikes twelve. The moon is lonely, its only company the dim shimmer of stardust. And I was just as lonely as her. I analyze every rock and every fragment, I memorize the wane of a slim crescent, a silver of glowing white filling the black void in the night sky.
Maybe the golden sun wasn't meant for me. Maybe this is how it was supposed to be. My happiness couldn't rely on the blinding sunlight, even when I needed it the most. Maybe the only thing consuming my mind should be the moonlight.
Maybe the moonlight is the only light I need to survive.