They stood together in the darkness. “Think I haven't known desire?”, she whispered. “Flesh and spirit blending into one- think I've never experienced it? Might be it is you, who is mistaken, assuming love and lust are two separate things, talking to me of devotion, expecting me to take the reins and lead you where others have led you before.”

She turned, tears streaking down her face, to look at him- but he wasn't there, he never had been. On the other side of the river, he was counting the stars, praying for sleep, wishing she would lie beside him. “Why can't you let passion overtake you?”, he asked the wind. “Let attraction burn holes into your soul- why should we stay paralyzed behind walls of analysis and filters of virtual dissection?”

As the wind blew around her, she carved spirals of solitude on cold skin. “Cast your fear of rejection aside”, she screamed, “then you shall see: indifference is only a disguise, politeness has no place were physical contact becomes spiritual. Why can't we feel instead of formulating; embrace instead of examining; sink deep into this current of sensations rather than remain tied to the mast of a reassuring but fleeting projection of self-sufficiency?”

The night saw it all, and said nothing, for it had witnessed such scenes a million times before. So had the moon, but the moon understood; the moon shed tears for all the lost moments, the unbridgeable gaps and the strained figures struggling to cross them. The moon mourned, because the figures could fly if they chose to; they dragged atrophied wings in their wake, only they had never dared to look back..

The moon wept.
It began to rain.