No matter how many songs people write about the moon, it’s going to stay up in space, in solitude, without feeling the warmth and comfort of the romance that people think that the moon somehow has. It didn’t ask to be a symbol of love and passion, surrounded by only space and a chill of loneliness. It didn’t ask young lovers to look up at it and kiss their beloved, unknowingly sending a pang of hurt, causing another crater to appear on its once smooth spherical astronomical body. The moon, although in constant pain, remains in his usual position. Crying until red because of the pain he puts himself through just trying to get a closer look at what something he can never have looks like. Sometimes people observe the moon’s pain, but see it as beauty, and sometimes they don’t even notice it at all. What good would it be if anyone knew the truth? He’s up in space. Alone. Two hundred million miles away from the fascinating creatures who can feel and love. One day the moon will be gone, and people won’t notice because the moon’s dead remains will take a while to appear evident on earth. Just like a star that has been dead for a while. Its light will shine until it’s too late.