Luna

The sun sets with beautiful shades of pretty, smiling at the moon on her way by,

now here comes the moon, laced with clouds, sparkling from her borrowed light,

She stands in the dark as the moon peeks from behind a cloud and catches the sparkly glimpse of a tear rolling down her face.

Lives change, time keeps moving, hearts keep breaking and the tears keep falling.

“ tears are healing”, “ it will get better” and “ it will be ok” - old standbys always on the ready, in case they’re needed.

They’re all true, it just doesn’t seem like it at the moment. Momentary happiness, momentary sorrow, always transitionary,

Would the darkness be broken by a quiet “ I love you” or a simple hug, would the trees whisper a poem to her about how much she means to them, to anyone.

The moon feels the hurt, and how loud the loneliness cries out in the night, in a wounded heart’s distress call.

Bad decisions circle around her, waiting for her to reach out and caress them as if clutching a life vest on a sinking ship.

The moon and the stars stare at her, unable to break their gaze. Will she fall tonight? Will the bad decisions pacing around her, once again feel her warm embrace as she surrenders her sense of decency for a fleeting weak moment ? Will she give in, just to hear a few hollow words of adoration from those waiting?

So many scenarios fly around her mind, like sugar in a cotton candy machine. Swirling in a dizzying spin, building and thickening and the colors wildly tangling, her heart pounding.

She undulates between stepping back, or stepping forward to any arms that will wrap around her and melt the shards of ice poking her into tears.

Survey says… she’s not alone. Bad decisions cause others to give up self-decency for the sake of being satiated for the moment, in a place where love doesn’t even try to go anymore. Where feelings and hearts are dealt like cards in a casino- you win some and lose some, the winning is euphoric and followed instantly by falling into a dark chasm. Light stolen, love still lingering just out of range.

She finally looks away from the moon and sighs heavily. Maybe it’s time to hang the heart on the wall and gaze longingly at it when she walks by, and accept that there are no arms waiting to wrap around her anymore, and no “ I love you”s floating around, unattached to anything. How is it that physical touch could become so powerful and so devastatingly elusive?

Her heart dejectedly dons the gray shawl, covering up the colorful parts where love used to dwell. She closes her eyes and whispers a prayer of thanks for all that she’s been able to experience in the past, and heads back to the safety of her stoic spirit. What’s tucked safely away in there is precious to her.

Who knew that touch is so important and encompassing, an intoxicating elixir that can send the recipient into a heady kaleidoscope of feelings and sensations long unused.

Where do lonely hearts go? Is there really a lonely hearts club, where the hapless go to wait for their “touch moment”, a validation of their beating heart and stirrable soul.

A smoldering in her soul is more appealing to her than the quenching offered by the noise of fierce flames licking at her spirit and caressing her with a quiet frenzy. But sometimes she thinks of the flames, and wishes she could have both the flames and the smoldering wrapped around her in a loving embrace.

She splashes her face with cold water and makes a pot of coffee.