Loony.

That was what they called Luna Lovegood.

And she admits.

Admits that she did so, too.

However affectionate.

But that's where the problem was.

Affection.

She failed to not call her with that name.

She failed to not call her paper with a synonym.

She failed to show her affection to the moon.

Not as much as the lightning.

She failed to show her intelligence.

Not as curious.

She failed to show her parents her love.

Not as able.

She failed to look past the surface.

Not as observant.

She failed to understand why.

Not as understanding.

So she paused.

And she thought.

If life was like that, then maybe death won't be?

But she knew it would be futile.

Death will catch her.

But she won't stop.

The pain won't.

It will only transfer.

Because no matter who.

Death will come with grief.

And she knew she deserved it.

The pain.

She failed.

So she won't.

And she will stay.

Because the moon will be the moon.

It should be appreciated.

So she will stay.

And she won't fail.

She will be by the moon.

The moon will smile.

So she stayed.

She smiled.

And she allowed herself to feel.

And pause.

Stop to think.

And just let her go.

And embrace the moon.

And not fail to show her thanks.

And not fail to show her affection.

And told the moon what was there.

"I'm sorry. I now know I won't mind being graced by your presence under the moonlight."

"Oh, you don't have to say sorry. I know."

So she embraced the moon.

And she said.

"Good night."

And she left.

As the star.

Of the moon.


a/n:

It was a spur of the moment thing. Constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated. No flames, please.