Night. The end of day. Pitch black. Calm. Warm milk. Bedtime. Explosion of dreams. It comes along and weaves eerie tendrils into your being, inducing shadows of contemplation and regret.

So what is it about ‘the night’ that is so intriguing. Some of us welcome it, some are indifferent, and then there are the few whom it terrifies. Me, I find myself enchanted. The allure stems from my love for the moon, the sidelined hero of the sky who doesn’t garner as much attention as his counterpart who shines brightly enabling photosynthesis and cheery dispositions. He is smaller and pale, seeming more lonesome in an infinity where stars melt into space and we will never know where the lines are drawn. Tides crash fiercely into oceans with rhythms dictated by his whims as he subtly reminds us of his power.

When I was little, I had a terrible habit of repeatedly asking my father the same questions. One of them was- Why does the moon follow me wherever I go? Each time he’d patiently explain concepts of distance and size and perceptions, how things aren’t what they seem, and I would listen but adamantly choose to disbelieve him and harbor a fantasy that this gigantic orb in the sky favored me. I was deemed special and worthy of watching over. Somehow this thought comforted me when at the end of the day, once the lights were switched off and my head hit the pillow, I’d bravely nod off to sleep.

Years later Physics came along into the classroom and smudged away my imagined attributes to Mr.Moon and etched in lessons on lunar phases, eclipses, gravity. By then my mind had expanded to include worrying about acne, boys and hair sprouting in the oddest of places. Buried in books, music and the magic of discovering new depths in relationships; my tendency to look up at the sky for him slowly faded.

But he remained faithful, constantly looming over me , his face occasionally dented with cloudy grey dimples And he watched me as I pored relentlessly over textbooks with trepidation, held my frail sick dog close to my chest and prayed properly for the first time, danced barefoot with a man I loved on a beach as soft sand caressed our toes and waves lapped gently , laughed with my best friend the first time we chugged whisky from a stolen bottle, cried myself to sleep the nights I couldn’t figure what I was meant to be doing in life. He is always there, changing hues from luminous white to musty yellow to deep indigo-grey, and yet remaining stubborn with a resolve to defeat darkness.

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