maxinemoonlight

[maxinemoonlight]

Fleeting Warmth of Solitude

I’m sick with a fever, my body cold despite the sun’s mocking warmth. Yet, the sun offers comfort, gently warming my body and soul as I sit on my small balcony, writing to distract myself from the chill within.

I often despise the sun for its heat—the sticky, uncomfortable sensation that clings to my skin and leaves me smelling of sweat. But in moments like these, I appreciate its warmth. Still, as sweat begins to bead on my forehead, I feel the urge to retreat from it. It’s a love-hate relationship—I crave its light yet curse its presence when it becomes overwhelming. How ironic to find solace in it now, only to resent it later.

The sun reminds me of my mother; she is the sun, and I am the moon—different yet bound by an unspoken connection. When I moved out to live on my own, it felt like freedom, as if I’d escaped her constant watch over my time and decisions. I reveled in the independence, in shaping my own world, where I could sleep during the day and come alive in the quiet of the night.

But now, sick and alone, I find myself yearning for her care. I miss her worried glances, the comfort of her homemade soups, and her gentle insistence that I take every dose of medicine. It’s these small, ordinary acts of love that remind me how much I still need her in my life.

It’s strange—I don’t live far from her, yet I refuse to tell her I’m sick. Even if I did, what would it change? She’s busy working to support me, and sharing this with her would only add to her worries. I hate being the source of her concern. I’ve been self-reliant for as long as I can remember, learning to care for myself as a way to ease her burden.

Still, I find myself longing for the care I never fully had. She always reminded me to take care of myself, to prepare for a life where I might truly be alone. To be strong, self-reliant, and not to depend on anyone. So, I swallow my longing and let the silence cradle me, telling myself this is how it must be—that perhaps, solitude is my fate.

In the end, it’s always just me. People drift in and out, leaving when the weight becomes too much. No matter how much I plead, they never stay. Yet, despite being abandoned by those I’ve loved before, I cling to a faint hope—that someone, like the sun, might linger long enough to leave me with their warmth.

For now, I endure, letting the fever and solitude wash over me, as they always do. I tell myself I’ll be fine with my own company—because, for now, it has to be enough

[maxinemoonlight]

The Dance of a Never-Ending Cycle

Melancholy and sadness are feelings I know well. I’ve danced with them for a long time, since I was 12. Each time, it’s a never-ending cycle, following their lead, letting them pull me in circles, as if they know me better than I know myself.

Why?

I was doing so well until now. Often, I think I need help—crying out to someone about this ache I feel—but would they understand what I’m reaching out for? Could they grasp this emptiness, this ache that even I can’t explain?

What is the purpose of my life?

To make my family proud of my accomplishments? To collect all the praise I receive? To miss someone who doesn’t want me? To be the second choice in every part of my life? To love someone so deeply, only to lose them in the end?

Love. We dance together with such high hopes, and I think maybe, this time, I’ll finally be loved. But alas, I was only dancing with sadness in the end, left with a heavy heartache. Am I not meant to be loved—only to give love to those who use me for their own needs? Maybe it was my mistake for loving too much, to the point of being trapped in this never-ending cycle of heartbreak.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m mentally ill, but then again, just wondering might suggest I’m fine and that it’s all something normal to go through. I’m not sick; I’m perfectly fine. But how do I explain these sudden feelings of helplessness, the ache I feel in my heart—in my core—that can define my whole identity for long stretches of time? Is it normal to feel sadness over such trivial things?

Why does my soul ache? Why am I hurt so deeply in my heart?

Why can’t I sleep? I wish for sleep. I crave a peaceful rest, to wake when the sun shines and to fall asleep again when the moon comes. But as soon as night falls, I’m awake, like a lamp waiting to be switched off by God. The silence is heavy and unbearable. The only company I have is my mind, lingering in the past, questioning the present, and wishing the future would come faster. The night stretches on forever, and the day slips away too soon.

Even in this pit of despair, this ache, I tell myself that I’ll be fine, that this will pass, and I’ll be back to normal. But the ways I seek out normalcy may break me, coping through both healthy and unhealthy habits just to feel whole again.

I wish to be myself again. I wish to be normal like others, to stop this madness I didn’t create, to stop feeling so much pain. I know it’s unbearable—but somehow, even here, I keep hoping for peace, even if I can’t yet see the way.