Will the man on the moon, come down and give me some advice? I'm lying in waste on my bed, my body unwilling to move and my mind just clouded and my heart heavy. I'm suffocating on my own breath and drowning in my thoughts.

And I'll say to that man, that man from the moon, the man who sits there all lonely and watching: "Please, tell me, what of women and their wiles? Tell me why they play these games? Tell me why my heart hurts so painfully when I see them so near yet so far away?"

I must be crazy, because here I am, talking to an imaginary person who I think exists from the moon. I'm picturing him laughing away up there so high in the dark sky. And the night sky, all those stars, they blink away like a thousand watching eyes. All of the peering down on me.

And again I have to lament: "Why, oh why does this torment befall me? I have chosen to give all my secrets and I lay down my defenses and weapons. And now when I am helpless before her, it seems like it was all just a dream? What can I do to let her know how much I need her? Or is it never going to be enough and I'm just another dent in her past?"

How I wish that it was ever enough. That other side seems so alluring now. That place they call celibacy. No wine can bring an end to this. So I'll just write it on a paper and burn it to watch. Maybe that'll cure my eyes, turn me blind, make me deaf and bring me amnesia.

And yet here I still am. I'm still waiting. Like a fool. God, help me.