So wonderful the world seemed to me then, so dreadfully wrong and so perfectly right. I fell in love and back out of it seven times at least as I watched the moon, white and shining in the sky, full, happy, living. The moon was its own world and I, its happy observor. I wanted nothing more than to be my own world too, but this was impossible, I was everyone, everyone was me, and I could trust no one because I couldn't trust myself. So totally nonsensical, this thought, and yet so elementary. I wandered off again, in my mind; I was lost, and I stared blankly at that great disk in the sky as I thought of other matters. The future bothered me; I felt low; petty, inconspicuous problems that I shouldn't let bother me roamed through my mind then, and I let them. I tried to find my way back, but alone, it was nearly impossible. I needed that third party intervention, that helping hand, just a love, to help me through. Nothing came; I stayed lost. My eyes remained unfocused, my mind sad, my life purposeless. I cried to myself, a dry, tearless cry, and the moon no longer seemed pretty. It was over.
