The moon whispers secrets, the kind that make you question your investment in self-help books. "Write beautifully," it calls, knowing full well the irony in your slanted script.
"How profound," you scoff, dipping your metaphorical quill in pools of moonlit sarcasm. The stars laugh, twinkling in Morse code messages you can't decipher.
Did the ancients ponder the same? By lamplight, they might have scrawled their discontents, only to find the pages wet with cosmic laughter.
Click here for more midnight musings, or perhaps anvil your dreams as they drift, ever so ironically, into the dawn.