Late Night Conversations

Reads: 80  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 8

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
It's just going to be diary entries until I figure out something to write. Sorry folks.

Submitted: July 01, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 01, 2017

A A A

A A A


 

The night embraces me like no other arms ever could. The quietude calms the panic that courses through my veins, the soft shimmer of the stars captivates my mind, letting it rest from the storm that harasses its grounds, and the moon… he is a guardian, a nurturing father watching his children. Some of them are sleeping, some are painting the town red, but some gaze at him as well, looking for answers to the day’s dilemmas, yearning for a certain emotion, a memory, anything to pull them out of the present time’s numbness.

I look at the ashen father up above, and I wonder if he is lonely, too. All those stars never seem very close to him, and his children down below always need him to fulfill their desires. They write poetry beneath his serene light to give it to their summer sweetheart, they party right in front of his eyes without sending him an invitation, they cry thinking he can’t see them beneath their blankets, never bothering to tell him why.

The moon is a silent but sentient being. Never given the opportunity to talk, he chooses to dwell in his soundless melancholy. I talk to him but he never replies, I cry but his light does not dry my tears. Instead, he watches me quietly, sending his white halo to soothe me.

I love him, I love my father, for even though we never spoke, his tenderness transcends language and definition. However, I am an ungrateful child, for it makes me sad that he is my only friend. I sit by myself beneath the night’s cloak, counting the stars doting the sky, and wondering when I will have somebody by my side to bask beneath the pure moonlight. I talk to the moon, but he never replies, and so is the case with people. Words with no purpose nor soul come out of their mouths, our conversations have no depths. I cry but the moon does not dry my tears, and so is the case with people. They tell me that it will all be fine, that I need to smile and be thankful. Never bothering to dry the red tears of my heart, they are too easily deceived by the smile I fake.

I love him, I love the moon, but this hole in my heart has never been filled by him, nor by any of his children. Not because I cannot find the love to fill it, but because it gets bigger every day. This hole is eating out my heart, it is taking away my mind’s mediator. What will happen when I am only left with my mind and its chaotic storms?

I am growing tired and weary by the day. At night, I can’t sleep, and in the morning, I can’t wake up. I am a tired soul carrying a body that has befallen to a painful paralysis. I can no longer see any trace of the pink sky that has once given me purpose, for the day is only an uncomfortable blue and the night has a dark charcoal hue.

I wonder, should I stop my late-night conversations with the moon? Should I fall from his soundless embrace to the unforgiving claws of solitude?

 


© Copyright 2017 Pink Sky. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

More True Confessions Short Stories

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by Pink Sky

Pink Sky (2017)

Poem / Poetry

Painting of Pain

Poem / True Confessions

Snow Globe

Short Story / Romance

Popular Tags