| Diary of a Neurotic | ||||||
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November 27, 2002 All the words have been consumed. Every sentiment and phrase would be a cliché. But how else can you portray something that has been the object of so many dreamers’ affection. No matter how many times it has been obsessed over and desired you scuttle to grasp and clutch words like breathless, beautiful…my wonderful moon. I stare at it endlessly most nights and time seems to slip away. The sky like thick black velvet with diamonds scattered across it randomly always plays tricks on my imagination like his admiring flocks of stars wink at me knowingly. Strangely, some nights they seem within my reach, like I could extend my arm and grab one of them but some nights they tease me, play hide-and-seek. Almost always, I’m transformed to a six-yr old, building a house on the gray floating clouds, sailing by the heavenly bodies of the constellation, I’m light, I’m free, I’m happy, I’m calm. My moon, I could hug it if I could get my arms around it. Like a good faithful teddy bear, it’s always been there, the nights I break down and cry, I know it understands, the nights I dance under it in ecstasy…no matter what…it’s always there, night after night. (1:50 AM) ~`~
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