Yesterday, after dinner, I hurriedly walked outside. I felt like I was going to suffocate. I began walking with my head down, staring at my shuffling feet as usual, and I quickly looked up to redirect my steps when the loveliest, most majestic thing captured my eye. The moon, a shimmering, white, solitary figure suspended in an atmospheric pool, surrounded by nothing but it’s own light, utterly alone. I stumbled for a moment and then leaned against the icy rail- and I stared. For moments. Ages, but not nearly so long as that poor celestial being has been in place. I began to wonder how many of Earth’s faces and faces on earth it has seen. How many horrors and sicknesses and tragedies and heart-stopping terrors it has seen, but been frozen- helpless to help- by it’s own fundamental being. And how ironic that the moon, which views all nightly tears, is meant to shed light upon the very things it wishes to stop.
Woe! For are we not as helpless in our own self-destructive illumination upon the very things in our lives which we wish to eradicate? Helpless by our very nature. Though we have strength it is only a shadow of the past day. T’would be happier to be overtaken by void than to be given a false hope from which springs only a viscous sludge of despair.
Despair, oh wandering faces. Despair.