In the desert, there is no shelter. The sliver of moon says hello, just beginning to grow in the night. If one walks through the endless mounds of sand for long enough, the grains of weather-worn rock begin to beckon. Urging you ever on. That little sliver of moon becomes your one and only friend, a lifeline to wander towards, even if you know you will never reach it.

You do not know how long you have wandered through the blowing sands, or why you began. You forgot your own name many ages ago. You don’t even remember what it is that you’re searching for. You only know the sound of your own voice, reciting poetry in the form of vague memories to the empty desert that surrounds you.

How many days have passed, how many miles have you walked? It becomes difficult to keep count when you track time only by the life cycle of the moon. Every day beneath the cruel sun becomes the same. The hours, the miles, blur together and the answer becomes lost in the trails of sweat that drip from your wind-burned face. The one solace in this long walk is that friendly moon.

You can see half of her now. It may have been mere minutes since she began to appear, a slice of light in the dark, or it may have been weeks. One thing everyone must know about the desert is that it doesn’t keep track of time for you. It lets it pass like sand in an hourglass, all piling up on the wrong end. You know you are not the same person you were yesterday and yet you continue to carry their sins. In the raspy tone of loneliness, you speak to the moon. Where is the nearest oasis, moon? You need water. Where am I going, moon?

You fall to your knees in the sand and for a brief moment it feels just like the softest pillow you ever laid your head on as a child. The bright moon bathes you in her light, caressing your cheek in the touch of a distant mother. She is burning brighter than every fire, filling the cracks in your soul with molten silver. Patching you up little by little. You wonder if she knows who you are. You look inside yourself, at what you’ve become. You’re not entirely sure if you like what you see.

Your consciousness casts you back, spitting you out like a sour piece of fruit. The moon is full now. You force yourself back to your feet and resume your long walk. You don’t know how much longer this can continue. There are so many unknowns. One thing you do feel certain about is that you will die. Perhaps alone. Left to be buried by the sand you have come to know so well. It would not be such a terrible thing, you think to yourself, to be buried by such dear friends. To lay to rest in the endless desert, watched over by your moon.

The light of the full moon feels eternal. It fills you with life and your steps are confident. If there was anybody else near to witness you, you would have played the part of a happy person quite well. You think that maybe the only person you truly need to give that illusion to is yourself. Maybe, if you fake it long enough, you will begin to believe it. Maybe there will finally be some destination to your journey.

Just as quickly as it appeared, the full moon begins to fade. Not so eternal after all. Even the brightest things must lay themselves to rest. With every bit of moon that fades, a little bit more cruel loneliness whispers to you. In the desert, there is nowhere to hide. Your loneliness, sadness, it doesn’t forget you or lose you amongst the trees as it may have if you had chosen to wander through a forest. It simply follows you silently, learns how to sit politely in the corner and wait for that small crack it can sneak through.

The life leaves your feet and you collapse into the soft sand. You watch the moon begin to leave you, now once again just a small sliver. You curl into yourself and wonder where you came from. You exist, and so something must have existed before you, beside you. Perhaps there is even someone else wandering through the wide open desert, finding comfort in the moon as you have for so long. As the blowing sand inches closer to you, you wonder what this walk would have been like with a bit of companionship. Just as quickly as you think it, you apologize to the moon. Has she not given you all of her time, every phase? After all, she only rests occasionally, as she is about to now. But how wonderful it could have been to have somebody to respond to you. To ponder the meaning of this walk, wonder where your destination could possibly be. To help you remember why it began. As the moon goes to rest and the night sky covers the desert in the clear dark, you think how strange a feeling this is. To mourn a version of yourself that never even existed.