Tears Of The Moon

Astronauts say that the moon is made of rock, but do you believe that? 

The moon is really made of tears: of regret, sorrow and grief. Surprised it hasn’t fallen out of space yet: tumbling through the endless void of stars and gas, because the moon is the one that carries all our burdens, and they can be immensely heavy.

Who might collect these tears, you ask?

There is a butterfly, made of silky light, one that softly shines through the darkness. It is the moon’s messenger, and flies down to Earth every night to gather the newly-scraped-out tears.

The butterfly has been there for all eternity, flying back and forth between Earth and the moon with its transparent, glowing wings. Does it have a name? I wouldn’t be sure if it could have a name, for it is much too ethereal to think of having one.

Tonight, the butterfly, with it’s beautiful grace and elegance, floated down to Earth to collect the new tears. It visited a little cottage first, nestled in the middle of the countryside, and heard something. Music, notes drifting up like leaves on a breeze, blew across the wind to the butterfly. It paused for a second, listening.

Through the open panes of a window, there sat a girl, singing and strumming her ukulele gently. Her short blonde hair drifted slightly in the wind, blowing around her neck while she sang.

Take me to the rooftop,

I wanna see the world when I stop breathing,

Turning blue…

The butterfly sat on a piece of wheat as the girl sang ‘Listen Before I Go’, and not before long, a tear slid down the girl's cheek halfway through.

If you need me,

Wanna see me,

You better hurry,

I'm leaving soon…

Creeks flowed down, down and stained her instrument as the butterfly flew closer. The girl closed her eyes, immersed in the song, and the butterfly landed on her face. The wings glowed a touch brighter, and the tears soaked into the wings, making them radiate stronger. Once her cheeks were dry, the butterfly flew out the window as the girl ended.

Call my friends and tell them I love them,

And I’ll miss them…

❤~❤

The moon doesn’t really have phases because its position changes, does it?

It wanes when the tears fade away, when our minds are forgetting about all our regrets. The new moon is a time of hope: when we’ve forgotten, even for a moment, that our lives are perfect.

Every new moon is when the butterfly rests, for it’s the only day of the month that everyone is happy.

Next, the butterfly flitted off to a mansion nestled in the bustling city, but, as it was in the middle of the night, it was silent. The mansion was made of glass and gold ornaments decorated everything, crying out wealth. Inside, there were twelve floors, and the elevator was like a virtual reality game, the walls reflecting a different world. A boy sat on the seventh floor, in the room labeled 398. The butterfly flew through his open window, perched on the windowsill, and listened.

The boy had shaggy hair dyed green at the edges, beaming energy, but the colour did not match the boy’s face at all. He looked like a scraped out bowl of ice cream: insides all gone, but a few leftovers abandoned. 

A song called ‘Sweater Weather’ started playing out of his Echo, and he whispered, “Biscuit…” He buried his face in his hands. “Don’t listen to strangers, Biscuit.” He sighed again and curled into a ball while the song played amongst his sobs, trailing down his hazel-coloured cheeks.

Cause it’s too cold,

For you here...

The butterfly watched as the boy sighed again and again, muttering to himself about his puppy, gone. The butterfly fluttered up to him, and rested on his knee as he muttered.

“Don’t listen to strangers…”

His tears raced down his face, as if fighting for first place. The butterfly glowed again as it soaked in his grief, and after collecting everything, the boy looked up with dry cheeks as the song finished.

And it’s too cold,

It’s too cold…

❤~❤

Are stars really made of bubbling gas, suspended in the sky?

They are actually made of your regrets: twinkling in the distance after you’ve forgotten about them, but they are still there, lingering.

People stargaze to peer at the far away constellations, to view something beautiful but tragic. Many people don’t realize that by the time they see those stars, they might be gone: exploded in the vastness of space. Many people also uncover many memories while stargazing, because searching for past regrets does open up a chest inside of you.

The butterfly swooped across dark meadows, speckled with little mountain flowers along the way. There sat two women: both lying on a picnic blanket with a woven basket next to them, gazing up at the stars.

“You wish,” said one with inky hair, punching the other one who had platinum curls.

“Ow!” The second one shouted out playfully, and their laughs were light but heavy at once. A silence nestled in between them, like a bird in its nest.

“I hope my grandma is doing okay,” said the first.

“Did anything happen?” asked the second.

“She has lung cancer, and she was admitted into the hospital a few days ago. I really hope she’s okay.”

Buzz

The first woman’s phone rang, and she picked it up immediately.

“Hello?”

“Grandma?”

“No, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No.”

“Actually?”

The woman’s eyes fogged up with worry and tears, but kept talking.

“Grandma?”

“This is Jade.”

“Okay, I will.”

“I love you Grandma, and I wanted to tell you that I still have that frog you crocheted for me when I was four.”

Jade smiled, tears flowing down, down.

“I love you.”

She tapped the phone screen, hung up and turned around to the other girl.

“I’m so sorry Kaela, but I gotta go, it’s an emergency, I’m so sorry,” said Jade hastily, and rushed down the hill, leaving Kaela alone.

Wondering about hearing Jade’s conversation, a pond that had formed in Kaela’s eyes started to drip down her cheeks as she imagined all the “what-ifs” that could’ve happened to Jade’s grandma. She also wondered about Jade, and what Jade would say if she knew...

Let’s just say that Kaela has a vast imagination.

Perched amongst the grass, the butterfly flitted up to Kaela’s face while her eyes were squeezed shut, dashing around under her eyelids. Standing on her freckled nose, the gossamer wings glowed brighter as it basked in Kaela’s tears. After drying her face, the now vibrant butterfly flew out and back into the sky.

The song ‘Drivers License’ hung in the back of her head, like the cobweb in the corner of a house. It was Jade’s favourite song.

Gazing into space and not noticing her now dry face, Kaela twirled her golden hair around her finger and thought back to a part spiraling over and over in her mind:

‘Cause how could I ever love someone else?

❤~❤

While the butterfly soared through the sky of forgotten regrets and the orb of the moon, far down below sat a little girl on a swing. Looking at the stars as she swung back and forth, no old memories were unearthed, for she was young and hadn’t contributed much to the growth of the tear-doused moon.

As the butterfly neared the moon in the distance, the girl thought she spotted something aglow, far away, but later when she told her parents, they assured her that she had just been dreaming.