the moon

I spent days on the beach lying down next to camels and walking over breaking bridges to haunted islands inhabited by witches. Candles were lit, letters written- wishes sent out to the universe. After weeks of sunbathing my birthday approached.

We spent the day between seashells and laughter, ending it in a traditional Moroccan restaurant in the centre of Casablanca. My new friends gifted me a pack of Marlboro lights and an improvised cake, which was made of a croissant and a sushi stick.

At 3 everyone returned to their rooms spread across the mansion. Well, almost everyone. I took my time wandering around the library, the kitchen and all the little rooms we don't

have the words to name. The white walls carried windows without glass that let in a slight breeze. I glanced through them to hear the sounds of the foreign countryside mingle with the waves.

As the turquoise tiles shone bright in the moonlight I realized that maybe my life wasn't about the emotions I always deemed in a horrendous uncertainty. It was more about the consistency of their everlasting presence.

No matter when, I would always look up at this moon. Some nights I might think about the guy I loved so desperately but could never tell, some nights I would think about

the guy I wanted to love deeply and so very honest but couldn't.

But he would always be there for

me, a bright light guiding the way. Maybe it wasn't so much about what I was telling the moon about, it was about his steady ears and the sheer existence of my prayers.