The Moon Behind My Eyes

I kept the glass perfectly clean, believing that clarity would make it easier for the light to find me. I memorized the horizon, certain that devotion was a currency the night would eventually accept.

The stars arrived as they always do—punctual and indifferent. But the silver I waited for remained a rumor. I learned then, that the sky does not negotiate with our longing.

Waiting slowly turned from a virtue into a haunting. It became a quiet argument between my tired eyes and an empty yard. So, I drew the curtains. Not in anger, but in a profound surrender.

I turned my back to the glass. I stopped asking the dark to be anything other than dark. And in the sudden quiet of letting go, I finally closed my eyes.

There it was. Spilling through the cracks of my own thoughts, a pale, steady glow that didn't need a sky to exist. Untethered to the orbit of the world.

It turns out, the universe was never keeping the moon from me. I was just looking through the wrong window.