The Answer

Her pretty eyes stared at the wall. Sitting on her bed with paint-stained hands at 2.00 am she ogled. The moon and stars that she painted reflected something;something that only she could interpret. A woman of varied dreams and rooted hope, she never loved the moon. She thought of the moon as a symbol of weakness. To everyone  she knew moon meant love. She used to laugh to herself;"love". To her love was weakness. Dependency had no way to glissade into her. Her love was for the sunshine. The morning sun that made her desires burn. Burn to be claimed. Perspective;everybody would say. Who doesn't love the moon? Do you need a reason? The way it shines and the ways by which you lose yourself in its radiance? . She believed it all to be dreamy. What on earth exists that you cant reason out?. The question she always nothing-ed to !  And as she stared at the portrayed moon on her wall with so many thoughts gushing in, he stretched in his sleep. She turned to his side as she saw the painted moon's shadow cover his face. The answer was simple.