Finite

                                    

                                          
I have no interest in sleeping when the sky is awake, this night before my birthday beautiful just for me. The moon invites me out; a party, he offers. My feet walk for me as my head is turned towards the sky, the millions of lights and my bright moon guiding the way with illuminating life. The shadows in the trees begin their slow by restless dance as they too follow the moon.
                          
He begins to tell me a story, about the world he circles; he says he always offers a 'hello' to Atlas, the man who holds the earth up. This intrigues me; has this man does this for as long as the moon has lived? That would sure get tiring, I think to myself.
                          
Moon says that all life is finite, some more so than others, such as him and I. He explains that, compared to him, my life is but a second in his, short and rarely significant. There are so many of me, he says; all as easily lost as the previous. He likens me to a candle, but I do not understand why. The duration of a candle is it's life; does that mean that mine is gone with a gust of wind or a drop of water too? Or ice, he continues. Ice? Ice is murdered by the sun; will I shrink away to nothing under the sun's harsh anger? It is hard for me to imagine so. He says that humans like me are so mortal, so many dangers in our life that our end is certain, whereas he is not so sure as to when he will end; he is already as old as time itself. I ask him if he ever gets lonely, fighting with the sun all the time with no resolve. He says that special people like me are what saves him from his seemingly boundless life.
                          
Special people? Does that mean that not everybody knows he exists? How could others not see him? He is out tirelessly every night, talking to the clouds or soothing the earth from the heat of the sun; he is always there. And how could one not hear his presence; his voice walks along the wind with such cool warmth it instills ripples of goose bumps.
                          
I am puzzled now, his words leaving my head reeling and I have to pause, disorientated. He murmurs soft directions for me to find my way and then I am as sure of it as I am my heartbeat in my chest.
                          
Moon starts explaining why everything happens for a reason; his constant fight with Sun allows the cycles of life on Earth to go round. While Sun is harsh here, he is often very kind and helpful elsewhere. Why is he so mean here then? I ask myself as I stop, sitting beside my shadow. Moon brings relief to places where Sun is unforgiving, a loop of peace, he calls it. This makes sense to me. There are only two times where day and night show signs of togetherness: dusk and dawn, when the moon and the sun grapple for their own light.
                          
Now I am unsure if I am awake or dreaming as dark shapes appear int he trees, my mind looking for friends but finding only enemies. Sun brings light around as Moon says goodbye, his journey beginning once again as he is repressed by down under the world. I would really love to see what he sees; he tells me so often of the canary yellow of vast canola fields, so happy all the time in contrast to Sun's fiery anger.
                          
I try talking to Sun, but he pays me no mind as he dismisses my life as insignificant and doomed to remain in infancy. Never will I grow old according to him. He must be in an especially bad mood today; he makes the trees groan in frustration and the dust stir in discomfort. I wonder why he has to be so cruel, his livid state tiring me just watching his radiating irritation. As my eyes shut I hear him mutter to me in a tone like poisoned chocolate; deceptively warm and sweet.
                          
"Indefinite sleeps await you, Mortal."