Moon, Moon. Where are you?

someone please point a torch to the sky so i can feel better.......

You!
You did something. I know you did.

Don’t lie to me. Don’t hide behind your walls and your glowing windows. I can see you. I can always see you.

Where is she?

She was here. Right here. I felt her light across my skin, soft and steady, like she was holding me together. And then gone. Just gone.

You think I don’t notice what you’ve done? You drowned her. You built your cities so bright she couldn’t find a place to rest. You mocked my silence, filled it with noise, built your days so wide they never end. You made her tired. You made her fade.

And now you look at me like I took her.

I didn’t.
I didn’t.

But maybe I did. Maybe I wanted her too much. Maybe I held her too close, covered her face with my own hunger until she couldn’t breathe. Maybe she ran from me. Maybe she ran from both of us.

God, I don’t know.

Do you hear that? That’s the ocean losing its mind without her. The tides don’t listen to me anymore. They crawl up the shore, then retreat like cowards. The wolves won’t speak. The stars tried to hold their places, but they’re children without her. They glitter, but they don’t see.

Everything’s unraveling and you’re just standing there.

Why aren’t you afraid? You should be terrified. You should be begging for her return, tearing down your lights, kneeling in the dirt where her glow used to touch. But no. You look at your clocks, at your screens, at each other, and call this normal.

You did this. You made her disappear. And I let you.
I let you because I wanted to be near your warmth, to listen to your little lives breathing under me. I thought maybe she’d understand.

I saw the way you glared at her when she was full, how you cursed her light for exposing what you wanted hidden. How you built your cities so bright she couldn’t breathe. You called her romantic, but you never listened to her. You only wanted her reflection, not her silence.

And now you ask me what happened.

I am the night. I have watched everything rot under your lamps, every secret flattened beneath your sleepless noise. You never loved the dark, you tolerated it. You shoved it to the edges of your schedules and screens and told yourselves you conquered it. But I was always here, waiting for her glow to make me bearable.

Do you know what it’s like to be endless and empty? To stretch across the world and feel no reflection? You can’t imagine how loud darkness becomes when it has no listener.

she saw what you were becoming. What I was becoming.

So she left.

And now it’s just me.

Me and the sound of everything breaking.

I keep calling her, you know. Every hour, I call. The clouds tremble. The wind stops to listen. But she doesn’t answer. Maybe she never will. Maybe I’m the one who chased her off. Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore.

You’ll blame me, and I’ll blame you, and neither of us will admit how much we miss her.

But when you lie awake tonight, don’t look for her. Don’t whisper her name.
Look at me.
Look at what you’ve done.
Look at what I’ve become.

I didn’t mean to frighten you. I only wanted to explain. The stars aren’t enough, the lamps you light aren’t enough. I am still here, breathing around your rooftops, draped over your forests, trembling at your windows. I am still here, though she is not.

If you see her, tell her I’m sorry. Tell her the world keeps blaming me. Tell her I’ve tried to hold the sky together, but everything keeps falling through.

Please believe me. I didn’t make her leave.
I just don’t know how to shine without her.