She slowly got up and hope that no one is awake to see her eyes bulging for help. She reached for her pen and that little vintage notebook that no one knows and started scribbling the words her soul screams for. She quietly sat at their balcony outside her room and let the moon illuminate her thoughts. She thinks this is the best way to get help without actually getting help from anyone. She slowly bring her hand to a move, a few strokes, a long hard press, a few soft ones, and a lot of semi-colon for her thoughts are an endless words to write. She looked up and count how many stars she can see and wonders if she can ever reach any of it.
Dawn is her favorite part. More than she loved dusk. It is when there’s nothing else illuminating the sky other than the moon and the stars and a few shooting stars. Where a few people is awake, lonely and feeling the same way she does. Dawn is her best example of her woe. Getting that sorrowful feeling just by looking at the night sky. Knowing that her only companions are the heavenly bodies.
She watches as her lean fingers trace the stars above her. Listening to her own distress; along with her soft breathing and dark, wild soul. Too preoccupied by its beauty. Mesmerized by the radiance of that brilliant, round heavenly body; giving her pain to it. Taking its brilliancy and leaving it dark and gloomy just like her soul.
Chasing what’s left of her, she remembered that she was holding a pen, she grasped for it hard and slowly stand up and throw it above hoping it would touch the twinkling light beaming beneath her.
Getting back to realization, she sat down and read what she has written and a tear fall down her pale cheeks, gazed at the moon and asking it to give her strength and take her pain away, but it didn’t repond. It just stared back, listening and letting her know that it understands her.
She peered. Few salty tears fell, few strokes to her hair, wipe her tears away and gone back to bed. Because she knew for herself that she could never wipe her despair away.