the moon

the wind and the moon whisper to me.

i hear them even now.

my window is open, and a slight mutter enters the room.

they rarely disturb me, 

and comfort me when they find the time.

i gaze at the moon as it makes faces.

the wind tells me how the moon howls, too, sometimes.

i think it is not the sun that the moon was made for.

but for the wind who often finds companionship in the darkness.

the wind travels far hoping to reach its distant soulmate.

while the moon hovers trying to inch closer, but kept at arm's length.

people scoff and discourage them both.

but i whisper back encouragements.