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For me, these moments oddly reminded me of the peaceful moments with Emily, when her presence brought clarity and joy, lighting up my world with the sheer force of her being.
Then there were the phases of waning and waxing, where life and my feelings were like the crescent moon—partly illuminated, partly obscured. These were the times of uncertainty and change, of partial understanding and gradual learning.
Of my wanting to kill and bomb, and her convincing me to stop, to think things through, to have compassion.
Yet, even in these moments, there was a certain beauty, a sliver of light in the darkness that promised the eventual return to fullness.
And, of course, there were periods of complete darkness, akin to the new moon, where everything seemed lost and invisible.
I thought back to the vision of Maxwell in that hospital, unconscious. . .that maze of wires keeping him alive.
What if he dies? How will that destroy my mouse? How will that. . .destroy me?
Suddenly pain and pressure soared in my chest.
And it was strong and causing multiple sensations.
Like a flock of anxious birds taking flight in my chest. Their wings beating against my ribcage, causing this frantic, rapid fluttering of anxiety.
Anxiety was a heavy weight within.
A tight grip.
A suffocating embrace.
All at once.
No. Maxwell will be okay.
Still staring at the moon, I deeply breathed in and exhaled all that fear and pressure out. And because it eased the flock in my chest, I did it again and again, finding peace in the process of pulling in oxygen and letting it go.
Yes. Yes. Much better.
Calm came.
I gave a sad smile to the moon.
And yes, old friend. You are right. This too will change. Even this darkness, must bring light.
Like the moon, this was just a phase that came in life—the challenging times, the periods of loss, doubt, and fear.
Just as the moon vanished only to reappear, I knew this dark phase was only a temporary, part of a greater cycle leading back to light.
It will all be. . .better.
I breathed in again and felt an overwhelming sense of peace and perspective. The night air was cool and refreshing, carrying with it the subtle scents of the garden below—jasmine, a hint of rosemary, and the earthy aroma of damp soil.
Life is like the moon.
I chuckled to myself, remembering how Sasha would hate when I said things like this.
And then a frown hit me as I also thought of Sasha’s betrayal.
Now you are dead. Perhaps you should have studied the moon more.
That day long ago came to me.
In New York, I’d headed to a meeting that Sasha knew I would be at. My enemies had gone through great lengths to get me inside that building so that eventually. . .the structure would explode and I would be gone.
