Moonlight
Sometimes Moonlight whispers through my bedroom window’s blinds and I can only assume it’s wondering what I’m up to. Wondering why I’m awake at such an hour, wondering what I’m thinking, or why I’m thinking, or why I have chosen to spend so much time with the night as of late.
Sometimes I whisper back reassurances. Sometimes I say, “Don’t worry about me, Moonlight, you know how this ends. You have seen this night before.” Then I flip my pillow or tug my sheets or slide my glasses off or put my glasses on and I lay there. I lay there wondering, imagining.
Some nights I imagine I’m in a museum on its opening night and Moonlight has painted the walls just for me. Other nights I imagine I’m back in my childhood home, in the bedroom I shared with my brother, where Moonlight first found me; boldly showing itself off until my mind was too tired to stay awake for the theatrics. I remember I would wake up with Sunlight in Moonlight’s place and couldn't help but feel disappointed. There is something so fundamentally different about the two. Sunlight is almost inherently aggressive; it makes you exhausted, thirsty. Sick, even. Moonlight coddles us, I think. It knows what we’ve been through throughout the day and says, “I’ll be here so you aren't in the dark, but I’ll keep quiet. Please rest.” That’s something we yearn for in every aspect of life: knowing you’re existing alongside something else with its own mechanics and its own path, where that brief moment is a shared moment that feels right. It feels important. I like Moonlight. I like how it sits in my room without taking up space, or making noise, or making me sweat. I like how it shares its existence with us and I like that it doesn't ask for anything in return. You can't even look at the sun without it lashing out at you. I think the sun is too proud.
Some time in the future, on a night like this, when Moonlight is whispering through my bedroom window’s blinds, asking me why I am awake, insisting I go to sleep, I will say “I am up because you are up, and you have watched me grow and you have watched me cry and you have watched me not sleep at all some nights, but you’re always here, and I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you.” And my walls will flicker and my blinds will sway and Moonlight will smile and say, “I heard tomorrow will be hot again, please get some rest.” And I’ll close my eyes and prepare myself, to be disappointed in the morning.
Ladon Alex is a multimedia artist crafting canvas and digital pieces of art, as well as rapping his ass off. Give this man his flowers. And if you have a poem or a short story or an essay worth sharing, send it over to pajamasneon@gmail.com. I’d love to give it a read.
