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The clock strikes three.
Normally, Barry would've been long lulled by its ticking; tonight, it attempts to steady his racing heart.
Closing his eyes only made his mind replay all the words the homeowner said. Keeping them open did the same. The sight of the moon from the window took the edge off, at least.
His muse tonight, how beautiful. Stars serve as freckles for its navy blue body. The moon, its face—ever blemished by the kisses of craters. Yet its light never flickers.
He thinks, does the moon remember it all? It looks down on the earth. Sees the streets lit by humble lamps. Apartments peppered by early birds and salted by night owls. Could it tell the sun tomorrow?
Could he do the same?
Funny to ask himself such. He already knows the answer.
The sun knows he's tried. Most his waking hours are either spent on recalling the important or focusing on the irrelevant.
His mind is a quicksand. Before the homeowner came, he let himself be. It slowly dragged him down, yet he managed. But lately, he tries harder to be better. However that may be. The more he struggles, the deeper he gets consumed.
These past days, the viscous liquid has constricted his chest. It wraps his chest, squeezing him dry, choking the little air he can take.
Tonight, he is in too deep. His nose was barely above the surface. The homeowner could've stuck their hands in and wriggled him out of this. But no, he's been kicked until his head's submerged.
He can't breathe anymore.
It's no one's fault but his. He should've never stepped in. Never struggled. Never hoped for help.
He can't help being like this. Nor can he help himself out of it.
A sea of tears well around his eyes; only one dares to fall. It etches a stream of sorrow down his left cheek. His mascara trails in its path. Moonlight soothes it with a cold, white glimmer.
What he would do to forget this…
If his brain was better, he'd choose to immortalize the night breathing against the trees. The moon's stare whispering a silent, 'I see all of you.' Him offering the lone tear to his newfound lover. The low tides washing it away.
Though, like always, the wrong things stick. His heart remembers, and mistakes stay. He does, anyway.
He fears the moon might forget him, too. For it sees him as but the most beautiful night owl. One that cries through the dark, seeking light from the moon. It never saw him as a mistake, only as an aching soul it helps breathe again.
'I see all of you,' Barry thinks, hoping the moon hears him.
It says 'I love you' by finally lulling him into a gentle wink of sleep.
For tomorrow will be a new day.
Yet it's the same old,
yet it's the same old.