The Moon Is A Friend

Today has not been a good day.

I’ve had arguments over space, discussions about my face, and stress caused by money and the lack of its place. I’ve swallowed tears, my head has throbbed and my heart has raced, all in the last 24 hours.

I struggled to fall asleep, over nothing but a mind that won’t switch off, which led to a day where I didn’t even have the energy to smile. You don’t wear make-up anymore; how is your personal life? – I’m happy, and I’m enjoying my days between the nights, but these last 24 hours just haven’t been the best. I guess that is the problem with mental health, it never really leaves you. Like a moon, hidden behind clouds and daylight, it shines brighter some days, and can be invisible the next.

Today I listened to a song, which sang the romantic gesture of moon-giving. But when I look at the moon, I’m reminded of everything I stress about. I am reminded of the nights over the length of my life spent crying to the sky, wishing for a clear head, because where else do we look when our heads feel heavy. We look up, hoping to feel small; we look up, for advice from the universe. So when I see the moon, I see the projections of my past, not the romance I hear through my headphones.

“The moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to.” ― Carl Sandburg, Poet

Even though I see the moon as a hole in the night sky where, since the age my head starting spinning, I’ve shoved everything to hide it away, I can recognise it’s beauty. A strange beauty. A love-hate beauty of past and future.

I’m merely thinking aloud.

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