I think back to those lonely nights when I wandered the empty streets of my sleepy little town. I was chasing dreams and demons. The moon was my only companion and I would look up to it for guidance, for magic, for something, anything. I was lost, scared, and confused, and in many ways that remained true throughout the intervening years.
My eyes glance to the heavens, confirming the continued presence of my longest companion. The reflecting orb smiles down at me, but does little else. It offers no answers. It gives no guidance. It doesn’t even provide any warmth to ease away the chill from my aching flesh. I know it isn’t a great friend, I understand how sad it is that I even consider the moon such at all, but it has always been there for me and that can’t be said for the rest of the people who flit in and out of my life.
For old times sake I whisper skyward a simple request to have it acknowledge me, to somehow validate that I am real, that I matter. My eyes implore it to give me some sort of response, and my pupils frantically search the blemished surface for anything I can latch on to. But, nothing happens, and my eyes slide away from the moon to return to the darkness of my world.
In a way I’m relieved the moon didn’t answer, that is proof that I’m real. If it had somehow managed to speak to me or show me a sign then I would have to worry about my sanity. However, the fact that I wanted the moon to talk to me in the first place makes me question my mental stability. Who am I that I should expect the heavens to converse with me? Why do I want that to happen? And what do I think it would say?
Magic, of course. It always comes down to magic, and answers. And magical answers. And answers through magic. One leads to the other and they are both intertwined. If I have the answers then I can find the magic. If I have the magic then I can deduce the answers. And then life will make sense. And death will as well.
I shake my head to clear my vision, and brush away the small drops that formed in the inner corners of my eyes. Perhaps I am losing my mind. Perhaps I never had a mind to lose. Perhaps I’ll never know.
I step forward and push away the thoughts of my past, the thoughts of yearning for understanding, the feelings of loss and remorse for those who have left, the fear of the unknown, and I think only of what I need to make it through the day. One step in front of the other. One task at a time.
In the end, the answers will come on their own, with or without the magic.