Tonight, as I listened to Rahul breathe, the moon glared at me through the window. It’s the only time we’re allowed to have the curtains open, he says. I know he’s right. I know it’s better for me. But I do miss the sun. Anyway, the moon seemed angry. It forced me to consider what I had done to deserve such a judgement. Even if I am barely human, standing before a celestial being. It’s not as if we are not made of the same things. The same matter. The same dreams. And that made me wonder what a moon would dream. Maybe of walking? Maybe of plunging into the ocean that dances for it. I couldn’t imagine an existence without touching water, so I started feeling a little sad. It was a strange melancholy, this pity for a piece of space rock. Maybe she wasn’t angry, then. Maybe she was looking at me and thinking how tragic my own position is.
Lying in bed next to Rahul, with my heart gone for miles.
