There was once a girl who felt so lonely — even when she was surrounded by people. There were places to go and things to do, but this feeling wouldn’t leave her alone. Even when it was mostly dormant, it still felt like a pesky fly that just wouldn’t let her be. It just would not stop buzzing around and around her head; it was everything a merry-go-round wasn’t.
Some nights she’d wander the streets, looking for nothing in particular but then looking for any and everything peculiar. Other nights she’d stay at home and pretend her bedroom window was a TV screen, and that the moon was the star of the feature film playing in her head. The moon could really act. It could really steal the show. It was so bright and shiny — so alive with magic. Even the stars were jealous that the moon was a bigger star than all of them combined. Sometimes the moon got the girl in the end. Sometimes the moon died. Sometimes the moon saved herself. And sometimes it rode off into the sunset for no other reason than that it had always wanted to do so. But no matter what, the moon always looked cool walking away from an explosion.
On one night in particular, the girl decided to go for a walk; she was all out of stories. She needed to feel the night air playing with her hair. She needed to feel its coolness coaxing the rosy glow from her cheeks, even if no one would see it in the dark. She needed to count the street lamps as she went along — to name the light and call it her own. And most importantly, she needed to feel something solid beneath her feet, because she felt too much like a balloon. Too much like she’d float off in the wrong direction at any moment — far, far away from the moon.
Eventually the girl grew tired and found a bench to rest. She sat down and the night sky sat down beside her. She leaned back comfortably and the night owls leaned back with her. She sighed against the armrest and the city streets sighed with her. The trees sighed with her, the sleepy buildings too. She needed some new stories. Her head was so full of hot air and that was never a good thing.
She gazed up at the moon then. It was almost a perfect circle. It was glowing and radiant. It was a ball in the night sky and it was all hers to play with. But she didn’t feel like playing very much. She felt like listening.
“Tell me a story?” she asked the moon.
The moon obliged. “There was once a moon who felt so lonely sometimes — even when it was surrounded by millions of stars…”