The first word was toy. Something you hold on to with both hands, looking for a comfort that you will never let go of. The other word was the full moon. Something that cannot be touched, something that only makes you wish for what you don’t have.
The moon is a slippery fish. Crescent. Full. Waning. Gone. That is how the moon struggles out of the water she used to call home. She was caught. To be the toy of a lonely little boy. But the moon never wanted to be a toy. All she wants is to go back to the sea. But the boy wants to be comforted. He wants to be told that everything will be all right. He doesn’t want a hug. He wants to hold something in his hands. Something that won’t go anywhere. Not while his loneliness is still there.
I could have fished in the harbor, with solid ground beneath my feet. But I prefer to fish in the open sea, where the moon rules over the waves. Because, without risk, catching the moon wouldn’t bring me the same satisfaction.
It’s not fair. I wish I didn’t have to go to the sea to fish the comfort I need. Because the waves go up and down. Offering hope one instant and denying it in the next. It’s not fair that I have to look for comfort in a faraway moon. That makes me believe that I could fish her reflection, when the truth is that it will always be out of my reach.
I will fish my moon in a sea of never-ending waves. Of waves that rise like crescent moons and break like waning moons, only to rise again, in an endless cycle. I don’t want to be left in a calm, dead sea. I want the comfort to last. Even if it means bringing my sadness back to life, again and again, just to have something to comfort.
I thought that I had caught the moon, but she escaped at the last moment. And I don’t know if I have enough strength left to cast the line into the sea again, only to have the moon disappoint me again.
There are more fish in the sea. It doesn’t matter if I don’t catch the moon, there are more fish and one of them is bound to give me the comfort I want. Will it be a jellyfish? An eel?
They say that there are more fish in the sea, but I only want the moon. I don’t want to be comforted by any other fish. I can’t even touch my fishing rod, because I am afraid of ending with the wrong fish.
I know that I will catch the moon and she will comfort me, because that is what she was born to do. The moon casts her light on the sea, where she knows that I will catch her. That is why I know that she won’t escape, that she won’t abandon me.
Fishing in a sea full of broken waves makes me think that the moon might be broken too. That maybe her shape, her role in my life, isn’t as guaranteed as I was led to believe. If the moon is sad too, if she needs someone to put her broken pieces back together too, then that must mean that I will never find someone one hundred percent made to comfort me.
I am calm, like this sea. I don’t need anyone to comfort me. But I still fish. Because I like surprises, and I want to know what other things people can do for me.
I don’t believe in comfort. I don’t believe that comfort is something that someone else can give me. I won’t catch the moon, I won’t catch any fish, because there is nothing that they can do for me.
They say that a bottle full of sea water cannot be considered the sea. And I fear that the same can be said about comfort. I fear that if I fish the moon and drink it, putting it inside me, it won’t bring me any comfort. That maybe comfort is something unreachable, something that cannot be caught.
I don’t need a fishing rod to catch the moon. I prefer using lies and compliments. Because the fishing rod would create distance, and comfort requires physical contact and closeness.
Children only see what they want to see. You drink my comfort, you drink everything you need from me. And don’t see what you do to me. These bones that are the only thing I am allowed to keep.
I know that it is a hook and it will hurt me, but I cannot help biting it and comforting you. I know that you will consume all my time, everything that I am, but I cannot help it. I cannot pretend that you are not there. I cannot treat you like a new moon.
I know that you will throw me back to the sea, as soon as you take all the comfort I have to give. But I cannot blame you. Because the sky does the same. They are called new moons for a reason.