I sometimes feel like the daytime moon, out of place but brilliant in the big blue sky.

Causing wonder and curiosity in those who notice me. Rare and unusual. Deeply marred with scars.

They’re used to seeing me in darkness, mournful and weeping, brooding. Or perhaps I’ve been lighting their way.

There I am, hung above, always present, though sometimes unseen.

There I am dented and dusty, damaged and ignored, but shining on anyway.