I stared into the moon empty. Boring myself into its brilliance. From my bed, through the windows, summer nights are blue, I noticed. But nothing comes into mind. I adjusted my pillows and forced myself to think. About something. Or someone. But even if the moon is slowly dipping towards the mountainous horizon and still I could not think of anything. My eyes drowsy, however.
It has been a very busy week, doing extra hours that sometimes drag into the wee hours of the morning. My mind is actually used up. I even noticed, only lately, that my works were all the same. Boring. Flat. And nobody pointed them out.
But the moon gives me something to look up to. An inspiration? A sentimental reason? Once, I alighted from the jeep because I could not help but be awed by its magnificent beauty even nursing a stiff neck the day after. And now, in this bed, lying alone and waiting for sleep to come, I stared at her again.
It is one of those rare moments when my head is empty but myself full. Another one of those lunatic moments.