"sew me a sweater, using only the finest of moonbeams." the sun had told me, earlier this day. so i traveled from planet to planet, until i had every moon in sight.
my brain clasped it's grasp over the silver moonlight flowing in the skies. it gripped it from the seams and pulled and pulled until the moon was unraveled at my fingertips.
i pricked my fingers on the pins and burned my eyes from the thread, but after what seemed of years of working and pain, the masterpiece was done. by the time i had given the sun all the moons i could find, sewed into one small work of art— it unraveled at our fingertips.
why work to capture the moment, if it moves on without you anyway?