Only, there's no moon. No real light. It turns out what's causing that ethereal glow is just the dingy, yellow light bulb above the window, from the back porch outside. Streaming through the slatted blinds, it hits the kitchen wall and gives off the most beautiful, benign artificial moonlight. It's unexpected and inspired. It catches my breath the same way it does when I pull out that tattered old envelope with my name on it in your handwriting, from a box beneath my bed. A moment that is mine; that I relive new each time.
I used to be able to turn ordinary into extraordinary. If only in my own mind. If only with words that sound pretty sometimes, on paper, on the screen. I used to be able to see beauty in everything. In heartbreak. And it sustained me.
Now all I see is a blue shadow, cast on a wall.