desire

  The thought of opening a moon museum consumes my mind. The walls, curtained with constellations which caress the scarred phases of my moon; in an atmosphere absorbed in abstractness. The ceiling is charismatically celestial and charms the crystal floor. Visitors enter barefoot; delicately, to adore the spheres selflessly. It's open twenty four seven for all souls to catch a serene sight of the grey globes. Some come when they're lone, some when they feel lost, some come scrounging for stillness and some come to stare at art. *soon reality silences this thought of hers and she continues to look at the moon from the window near her bed*