The Blue Night

December 18, 2016 at 11:30 am (Englezesti..., Jurnal)

Once in a while blue eyes see a falling star and wish for a change.

1280px-van_gogh_-_starry_night_-_google_art_project

The wish is more exact to be specific but, let’s face it, details don’t matter since all imply a change of some sort. This is when The Blue Night happens, while blue eyes fall asleep and dream. If only they were awake they would see and understand, but Blue Nights reveal themselves only to those making the wish, and they are the ones compelled most to fall into a deep sleep exactly at that moment, the most sleepy people of all in this big wonderful world.

The waves take over the universe, washing away everything we know and trust to be real. Every star turns into a sun, burning with so much heat and a blinding desire to catch the moon, trying to impress her, to convince her that only they can make her shine, can make her warm and bring light into the darkness the moon surrounds herself with, like a protective, comfortable and familiar blanket. The waves wash over the moon, each bringing closer one sun at a time and taking it away, caressing the bright moon, making her shiver and feel like the queen of the night. This astronomic phenomenon affects every part of the moon’s universe.

The trees, surrounding the paths she takes on long night walks across endless memory lanes, reach higher, turn darker, trembling, waving in a concert of leaves, the music so sweet and charming. The moon gets lost in sounds, a concert of smiles, of tears, of longing or of anger, naming the road the trees are guarding.

Each road takes the moon on a hill, going high a steep lane or fast down the other side, like a roller-coaster. The hills turn blue, believe themselves to be waves, moving with fury towards the future, events the moon cannot foresee, into a darkness she will light in hopes of revealing things to come just before they happen, if she is lucky.

Each dear one the moon shines light on their nights lives in a tiny house the moon can visit, rushing away shades and turning the spotlight on. Some houses are always lit, others are surrounded by darkness, depending if the owner’s role in the moon’s life at that stage is important or not. The moon has many houses, some cozy and warm with soft beds and clean sheets, fire cackling in the fireplace. Then you have cold steel houses the moon rushes through, not necessarily friendly or hostile but helping build a foundation for a life of wishes. There are houses always in the dark, where the light will never come on again, but they can be lit up by the moon from time to time, washed over with sweet thoughts of memories from when they welcomed and hugged the moon through open windows and wide doors, making her feel loved and cherished.  These are some of the most precious houses the moon has, they helped her become who she is and always come in a pair of two.

And then there is the church. Always unique, it can take shapes and light up, appearing different to the moon as time goes on, hiding behind clouds, religiously drawing her close and pushing her away, singing songs of Gods and Angels, of Devils making promises not always kept. It is the church of the moon’s heart and it can make her crumble and fall apart or ride the crazy waves of feelings, washing away reason and logic, drowning her in a sea of madness. If only she can learn to swim.

Blue Night is always magical and magic is always true, but blue eyes sleep and cannot see their moon as she truly is. This is when the right sun catches up with the moon turning her into a star, showing her the right houses to keep in her village, the greenest trees, the sweetest paths, the hills worth climbing and the church meant to turn her into a true believer.

If blue eyes are truly lucky they can sometimes catch glimpses of The Blue Night in their dream, wake up in bland full day light and know that change and wishes are just stories for children and growing up means turning fairy tales books into journals of reality, written in black and white and greys.

Stop and make room for blue please, the wind will turn to waves and blow through pages like a storm rushing in a magical trip until you reach The End.

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