“Growing Up, I Used To Climb Out My Window Onto The Roof And Look Up At The Stars. There, In The Quiet,

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day

You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way

Kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown

Waiting for someone or something to show you the way

Janet Fitch, from her novel titled "White Oleander," originally published in 1999

Let me be sad, it is the only way I know how to squeeze out the last drop of happiness, and then I won’t suffer as much later on.

Pedro Lemebel, My Tender Matador (translated by Katherine Silver)

Zeta Ophiuchi, Runaway Star

The Last Full Moon of the Year l maco.wolf

Image by milicadukic

The Morning Mists (Clyties of the Mist) by Herbert James Draper (1912)