The moon is a fascinating object.
The romantic, the mysterious, the unreachable.
But why does everybody adore it so much,
when it's just a 'chipped rock living on borrowed light'?(Gonzales, Sunset Hair)
Why do poets and fools gaze in wonder at the light of dead stars
and still make their wishes,
when they know well enough that there's nothing to grant it?
Maybe that's why we love the unreachable--we set our hopes impossibly high,
so that when they don't come true we can always say "I knew it was impossible."
No harm done.
But inside we know, for that tiniest moment in between the skepticism...
we closed our eyes and wished
the way a kid does--
right before he blows out
his birthday candle.
Wooosh.Sentimental shit from my 18 year-old self. I have to admit, though--that it's still accurate for me. Three years, and maybe things haven't changed so much. (Maybe they should.)