A deck, poorly illuminated by the moon up above, shining down and judging me. “Why are you even sad?” Moon asks me. I don’t respond to her. How could I answer that when I don’t even know myself?
The wood is old and creaky, and when I walked out here to sit on this old deck my steps filled the silent night, but the silence quickly followed when I stopped shuffling around. Like a shadow that was always near, the silence. It follows.
I closed my eyes and listened to the wind and crickets. No music, no laughter, just the sounds of the forest behind my old family home. Owls hooted, crickets sang, cicadas cried, and the moon judged. “What do you want?” I asked her, growing annoyed by her watching eyes.
“I just want to observe,” she whispered. “I am intrigued by human emotion.”
“There is nothing to feel intrigued by,” I explained, “It is only pain and grief.”
Moon just sighed at this. I sighed, too. “Untrue,” she started, “I have seen such fantastic emotion. I have seen love, happiness, tranquility-”
“Well you won’t find any of that here,” I cut her off.
She seemed annoyed at this point, like she was sick of my complaining. She looked down on me, but I’m sure she saw way more from up there than just me. “You are foolish for believing that.” She said finally.
“Believing what? The truth? Nothing of interest is-”
“Perhaps not yet.”
I paused at that. I realized she had a point, but I wasn’t sure if I believed in a future of great happiness. I wasn’t sure I believed that I would ever feel anything besides pain. Perhaps I didn’t believe in happy endings at all, but I couldn’t help but hope that she was right. Just a little bit.