Lunar

I write now, taking a short break from watching the shadow nibble away at the edges of the moon. I move in the moonlight, my limbs sliding through the night, the hair on my arms illuminated by the dim light cast into the backyard. Twisted roots surround me, and a few single bats are almost hidden by leafy canopies. I take my hands, and cup them around the moon, bringing them close to my face, and through them, it seems as though I hold the moon in my hands. I breathe, deep, and a golden light is pulled from the moon. I pull it toward me, breathing in, and I feel it in my body. I close my eyes, and all that I see is golden, golden. I breathe out, and the world becomes blue. I open my eyes. My eyes water, but the ground is firm beneath my feet and I hold myself still. I worship the moon, and in doing so, I hold the sun close to my heart.

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