The tree house is dark,
She hesitates,
She gets a hold on the ladder,
She starts to climb up,
But makes a sudden stop midway,
The full moon reflects off her glittering eyes,
The splinters of the old wood begin to enter the flesh of her bare feet,
She hurries up and climbs in,
She begins to crawl,
But she hesitates,
She bites her lip and moves slowly,
Like a jaguar creeping on its prey,
Towards her grandmother’s record player,
No one understands her,
They never will,
She pressed PLAY,
The record begins to move,
She sucks in air,
She now stands on the window sill of the tree house,
She holds her breath,
She jumps but doesn’t fall,
She rises slowly towards the moon,
She reaches her arms out,
She rises higher and higher,
Her blonde hair begins to whiten and burn,
The rest of her becomes one with the blue midnight sky and silver stars,
She leaves for many hours,
But doesn’t come back until 5 am,
Green fairy sprites with pink glittered hair from the dark side of the moon,
Carry her home,
As she lands on her bed slowly,
Already fast asleep,
The green sprites whirl and twirl around her,
After their ritual dance,
They all leave tiny kisses on her cheek and fly away,
The kisses allow her to rise to the dark side of the moon,
But only if she left her record player on during a full moon,
No one knows about her secret,
But they just can’t understand the comet that flares the midnight sky,
Every full moon.