It is 2am and I think I have lost my pride.
Somewhere between fighting for the urge to go back to sleep and inner wars keeping me awake, I have reached a state. A state unknowingly to me, unexplainable and foreign. Yet prompting enough to take me outside, at 2am, with the cicadas.
I would hardly describe myself as a nocturnal animal, yet here I am. A prisoner of my own mind, unable to escape its demands. As I fill this page with words that feel so empty and unpromising, I begin to search for anything. I cannot help but feel an overwhelming sadness as I look above my head, and I see her. The moon sits so beautifully in the sky, yet seems so lonely. She is illuminating, essential, and selfless. But she is taken for granted and forgotten about by most, every single night. I am one of them. Embedded in my routine of slumber, every night, as I forsake her. She just waits. Waits for a time like this, willing to accept a love so past due. The more I stare at her the more I am confronted with myself. And finally, it all begins to come together. We escape the things that remind us of the troubles we are not ready to face. It is scary, to be alone. It has been a constant in my mind for awhile. I, too like the moon, can stand on my own with content, but in the end we all need love. The single idea of never finding it, haunts me.
But here, somewhere between deliriousness and inner battles, it led me to her. So here I am, stripped of pride and wars -loving and in love at now 4 in the morning. A beautiful exchange between two. Just the moon and I.
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