To the Moon and Back

I have been thinking about space lately. I feel protected when I look up in the night. I see the same moon I saw when I was a child, and I still get as transfixed by its presence as I did when I watched it during the hot Greek summer evenings. It is not easy to see the stars in London as the lights on the ground try to steal the show, but when I do, I hold my breath and keep really still, afraid that if I move I will scare them away. I sit still and look up, feeling the tingles traveling up my back and kissing the back of my neck.
There was one night that I felt truly overwhelmed by everything that was happening in my life. I had left my job for an unpaid internship that was coming to its end, I was running out of money and running out of patience and strength, and running from life in a metaphorical way that resulted in a very real exhaustion. I was walking back to my house, when I realised that the street lights were not on, but the street was lit – it was lit from above. So I looked up, and it was the most beautiful sight. A big half moon hiding behind a curtain of fast moving clouds, shining as bright as the sun. I found a bench, sat down ignoring the stinging cold and strong winds, and looked up. Soon, tears were burning my cheeks as I felt my heart warming up. I must have been an odd sight to the people walking by, trying to go home and escape the cold as fast as they could, and then there is a guy looking at the sky with tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips (not to mention the bag on his lap). But it made sense to me. I needed a moment and the moon gave it to me.
I picked my bag and myself up, wiped my tears and went home. I drew a hot bath, and then made a cup of rose tea with honey. All I needed was some space.




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