Deception

The moon doesn't stay in shape. Occasionally eluded by the clouds that have camouflaged within the nightsky. They spread across the horizon, all the way from where it gathers light from the moon, till where it almost disappears, at the back where my eyes wouldn't reach. Lumps that come in different sizes. If they represent people I miss, I reckon you'd be the one right above me. The spot on the sky where my gaze shoots straight up and reach. You wanted to be free. Yet you longed to linger in a part of me, wishing you hadn't become like this. When I face you again I don't understand how you managed to pull through that state. Of desolation. Eyes incredibly earnest to fight yet on the flipside what grew deep into you was emptiness. Now the moon and clouds resemble the shadow of a ship that's sailing nowhere. Is that you? Crazy, is that what most people would label? In a place you lived on your own, like the strips of metal flanked by two bars right in front of me. Or the glass sphere that has turned too hostile and chosen to be coated with an inner shimmer. Too ready to take risks. To protect yourself. They are all joined up now, and they fill in the spot which was previously empty. Were you taken away? Too many reasons tell me you didn't have a choice. The mind is proven untrustworthy - you were obliterated as quickly as how a simple white adhesive would colour a blemish. As though even your shadow missed the beat of a heart. If you lose what's under your feet, you get to realise what you missed. And maybe between us, we'd find nothing but a shard of mirror.