"A profound unmitigated loneliness is the only truth of life"
- R.K. Narayan




"Oh I love her so much," he whispered to himself, as he watched her with his usual calm eyes, "She doesn't leave my sight, not even for a moment in a million years. I never get tired of seeing her face, yet sometimes, some really rare times, I yearn to see what's that she hides behind her."

 
Oh! so fragile and pure she was. Like a newly blossomed flower, like a freshly bathed baby. Always decked in the white gown, like a bride ready to walk down the aisle. She enticed him, tempted him.
 
On bright hot days, when his passion was fomented in steamy perspirations, she seemed to get embarrassed and hid behind drapes of blue, orange and grey. He beckoned her, yet she came no closer. He had no doubt she belonged to him - she had stuck to him so diligently, never straying even an inch from her path about him. Yet he wondered why she never let him get close. He yearned to touch her, to consume her - for her ice to calm his fire - but what he got was only silent beams of her calm demeanour. And every night, when she gave her brightest smile, he would cool down. He would kiss her from far and she would, on some days, fade in shyness, and thus their poetic motions went on, round and round, day after day, night after night.
 
On some days, his passion got the better of him. He would bellow and roar, gushing about like high tidal waves of the sea, and on those days she hid her face and would leave him to the darkness; not because she hated him - he was her master, her destiny - but because he was a child who sometimes needed to be disciplined the hard way. In a day's time he would calm down and she would be back, smiling upon him, first in phases, and then slowly into a full bright smile, until it stoked his passions again and repeated the entire cycle over and over.
 
From his side, he had so many questions to ask, but it seemed like his voice never reached her. Was it the distance or did that bloody empty space kill his voice? Eventually he would give up on the questions but not before he had acted out all the drama: first he burnt in agony, wreathed in anger commanding her to listen; then he poured in melancholy beseeching her to answer; until finally he froze in reticence threatening to not talk to her ever. And, through all this, she remained calm, knowing very well that he was going nowhere.
 
Yet one of the questions never stopped troubling him: why does she always keep facing him and never turns the other way? Is her love so dedicated or is she hiding something behind her back? If she is hiding, then could it be some gift she is saving for a special occasion? Or wait, she never seems to come close to him, in which case does she have another lover hiding behind her? He would go crazy guessing the possibilities and it would bring out all his various shades: sometimes he turned grey with self-doubt, sometimes pink with shyness and sometimes green with envy.
 
And so... while the Earth went through these emotional churnings - to the extent that it made his insides red hot - the Moon looked down upon the Earth, calmly floating about, never losing patience with him and always sensing his attraction and humming to it. "You are the centre of my life, my love," she would silently whisper to him, "I shall always be yours - a part of you, even if not physically. It is natural law that I have to keep moving away from you, slowly, bit by bit, but I can't let you realize that. It would pain you greatly, and that is why I decided never to turn my back upon you."
 
PS: Owing to the physics of orbital dynamics, only one half of the moon is seen from the Earth all the time. The other half, which is never seen, is called 'far side of the moon' or its 'dark side'.
 
PPS: The moon is said to be moving away from Earth, by about 3cm each year.
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