Half-moon

Tonight my friends ordered half-moons for dinner at the usual Italian restaurant. And tonight that I feel no interest in sleeping, a half-moon rose at east, big, hazy and in the colour of amber.

I always loved the moon. I used to dream that from a little door hidden behind the sink in the bathroom of my childhood home, you could go directly to the moon. And it was peaceful and nice up there. It was never clear if there existed a way to go back to my bathroom but, in truth, in my dream there was no hint that I was even thinking of looking for a way back.

And then there are the memories of a splendid moon seen from a desert in the middle east, an implacable one during a sleepless night in a hospital, or a bright one shining through the window of someone who could have been special and never wanted to be.

But today there is no full moon. Today this is a half-moon, like this half-baked story, or this half-hearted message. Beautiful still. Fully beautiful, I dare to say. Rising and shining. And yet half. And so will she remain. For a while still.