lunar moth

I read my horoscope last night. I was curious to see what the full moon might have in store for me and, although I would never like to admit that my star sign is more than a form of entertainment for me I was quite intrigued by what it said. Understanding inner motivations is the key to power. Wonderfully vague isn’t it. It could mean anything and so it means everything. Fulfilling your ambitions, it went on to assure me, is now seeming possible. It had always seemed possible that I might fulfil my ambitions sometime; it just wasn’t that probable. Ambition is a terrible thing: as much as you need it to provoke action and encourage persistence, it is also quite crippling. The greater my ambition for tomorrow the greater my disappointment with today. But I find that like the moon my confidence and ambition waxes and wanes. Maybe I should learn from the moon and drop my half empty attitude and instead always be on my way to being full, except for days where I am completely new.

How is the moon meant to affect your mood when with just a tiny movement of my chin can turn its crescent grin into a frown. And how are yesterday’s full lunar cheeks have meant to make my desires now seem possible?

I would like to enchant people with my words, to kiss each one into the air and watch them float away gently with butterfly wings. But instead my voice is clinging to the inside of my chest and all I manage to heave out are old grey moths whose wings have turned almost to dust and are too frail to lift themselves.