untitled / juha lee

They say the moon is beautiful.

It is, you suppose. There’s a beauty to a tiger’s jagged stripes, the fluidity of a striking viper. There’s beauty in danger- or the idea of it.

The Moon is beautiful- in the way bloody, brutal things are.

But bloody, brutal things are cruel. They do not think or feel in the way their prey does. They love, but their love is simple survival- a cunning dance that ensures more carnage. They do not get lonely. They do not know lonely.

The Moon is lonely.

You know. You have always known. You’ve seen her, slipping through trees, silver skin kissing the ground soft as anything, and you can forget, almost. You can forget.

But the Moon will not.

The Moon has lived here, in the tides that crushed bone, in the wolves that ate of her light. The Moon will always live here, always remember.

And she will outlive us all.

• Category: Painting, Prose, Uncategorized