I had seen every color the moon possessed. It was yellow, golden, grey and silver-my favorite. It had so many shapes, one or each day. It was like a slice of melon, bitten one layer off every day. We would then have the smiling moon, the whitest silver, crescent, and the next half month it would recover. It grew bigger until it was full, and then it was empty!

I had also probably counted every star in the sky, and was probably recounting them each day. The problem here was that I kept losing count. The stars are quite naughty. They kept appearing and disappearing. People call it twinkling. I call it mischief. As if they were teasing me. They never let me get the right count. I never realize why this was so important to my idle mind.

Then of course there was the sky itself. The sheet of grey expanse, sometimes in shades of blue and some other days it was so black that it terrified me. The darkest shades of the blue sky complimented the moon’s color. When the lighter shades of blue washed the top, I found it difficult again to find the stars. They were like partners in crime and the crime was to trouble me. The grey shades of the skies were scary enough to remind me of the past and made me miss future, if that was possible. When the sky was pitch black, like ink spread on the pages of happiness, it made me cold. The sky seemed unhappy. These days the moon was gone. I got gloomy on such occasions, an unknown sorrow gripped me. I would be sad for no reason. It was like missing something nonexistent. Or maybe it did exist- the moon.

I missed the moon and the way it hypnotized me. I missed how it numbed my pains, quietly talked to me. It adhered to me and chose not to shine on my tears. It silently listened to my concerns and promised to be there like a dear friend. It sang me quiet lullabies before the sun rose and made sure to put me to sleep before finally fading away.

I think I also saw the slightest hint of the sun raising somewhere just before my body was ultimately tired and my eyes dropped shut. And thus I saw, the numerous shades of day, of lark, of dawn. The way it painted the night void of darkness. When it had tenderly arisen in pastel, soft, almost sweet colors, the oranges, the reds, the pinks. It was like a king that awoke from slumber. It was like all those fantasy metaphors we read in fairy tales and stories.

Just the same…..

 Daily prompt: Countless