a letter to the moon and another to myself, I sit writing under the shade of a blue night.
I'm tired of blues, there's more to colors and life. but I'm writing like a bleeding madman explaining why he's sane.
I hope the moon wouldn't sleep again, there's more to this night than I'm seeing. the stars shine through the paper at hand and dissolve into colors, fearlessly like the old lady taking her evening stroll every night.
a blue bird cries with me every night, as if following an unnamed ritual of children of the moon.
we both have in common, the moonlight or perhaps more. the dawn breaks like an uninvited guest. my eyelids pull together, a red curtain struggling to preserve the moonchild within. but the bird is gone, and the moon asleep.
I wait for the dawn to pass, like every time so I can write, yet another letter to the moon. for this blue shade stays with me, even when the night is gone.