I’m watching her; I can’t will myself to look away from her bright beautiful form. I doubt she notices me, I am so dwarfed by comparison, but it does not matter. Just a few more minutes, I tell myself, and then I will scrape the last amount of dignity I have out of the bowl and I will look away. I feel as if I am feeding off of her radiance. If I look away I believe that I will die. I must look away in order to regain my self-respect. I have to stop worshiping the Moon. I may be a flower, but I am not ordinary. I am a rose. The king of flowers. I can defy the Moon. She is false nourishment. I must get back to my true light. With all the determination I have left, I force my gaze away toward the ground. I did it. I looked away, and I am still breathing. There is no hurt. No death. I remain whole. But then I start to feel it…a burning deep within me, and an intense sense of shame. I have bowed before this idol’s borrowed glory and now I am ashamed. What have I done? Is there nothing that is true? The red within my petals withdraws into the ground. My bloom begins to fade. Death sets in.
Just when these thoughts seem most crushing, I feel the change. The Moon is gone and something has replaced it. The Sun has broken in the morning sky, elegant and majestic. He lights up all the earth and I feel myself being fed and renewed. He notices me and my shame is cast away. He looks at me and I know that I am loved. Once starving, my hunger now is quenched. I know what is true and what I will worship. True light. True warmth. True fire. I am weak, but he is strong. I will falter, but I am forgiven.
I was loved, I am loved, and I will be loved.
Yet, I must drink deeply now, for night will come again.