Blurry Moon

Sometimes when I lay in bed, I look out my window and watch the moon glide slowly across the sky. 

A gentle light that washes over everything like a blanket of down. 

I clench and relax my fist, my nails creating half moons in my palm

The phyisical pain of it outwardly manifests the sting in my heart. 

I open my eyes wide and grit my teeth

Willing my sight not to waver as my throat locks itself.

The chill of the night settles into my bones as I stare at the blurry moon. 

The bitterness of longing sits in my chest like an abandoned lifeline

Just wishing to be noticed. 

How many nights shall I watch the moon make its journey?

How many sunrise will I watch bloom? 

Days and nights blend together as I continue my solitary walk.

Waiting for the moon to not be blurry any longer.