Scribbling

Scribbling:

It is not full moon tonight, it is not perfect, yet it tempts even more, probably not being perfect, not being blue moon or blood moon yet being an imperfect broken piece of moon that reflects off sunlight off its face as moonlight, ever so soothing and beautiful. Probably perfection ruins the yearning, you get nothing to complain of your companion - even yourself, nothing to demand, nothing to offer, for it being already perfect you feel dazed and lost in its perfection, you feel it being too grand and yourself as tiny in front of it as non-existent. I love moons in pieces as if self, being broken and bleeding through the edges, with a sense of incompleteness, it makes me feel as if some pieces are missing, as if some pieces has been lost in darkness around. It doesn’t feel bad for darkness is as much important part of moon to exist as much that light off the sun. Probably it is only darkness that could fill the moon full, for light never gets to see it complete. I love the moon in pieces floating in darkness around.