p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"The moon. She wasn't going to write about the moon but she had forgotten what she was going to write about and the moon had come to mind. She was fond of the moon. She had once, and only, looked at the moon through a telescope and seen the craters and the rocks. It was a sight so real, so there; to see the edges and crevices of something so far away, that she fell in love. She enjoyed looking at the moon through her window, watching it as it disappeared into a sliver. Someone had once said she'd make a wonderful pagan and tried to imagine herself dancing in flowing robes chanting to the moon. It was an image she struggled with and she politely declined their idea./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"She liked the moon and so she wrote about it. She rarely cared what she wrote about, she just enjoyed writing. If she was struggling with ideas she'd write about a carrot if she had to. It was because of that she never suffered the thing some people called writers block. The only way someone should really be blocked was if they had no means to write, if they had the means the only thing stopping them was themselves. She was determined to never let her mind stop her. It wear was easy enough, she just had to not be afraid of writing about something as silly as carrots/p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"Now though she was writing about the moon, a perhaps less silly subject but it depends on how she wrote it. She could write about a silly moon made of cheese or a very serious carrot that was needed to save the world. Nothing had to be ridiculous or belittling./p
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"Her moon was a beautiful one, very serene and calming. Butterflies and nymphs erupted from its ripples took messages to the stars. Sometimes, in return, the stars would share stories of what they saw. Whilst the moon was very big, its own shine stopped it from seeing down to earth. The stare stars knew how the moon loved the stories and would tell of children and laughter and happiness. The moon would hear of parties, and true loves and forevers. The stars never passed on the other stories, the ones of sadness and pain. The moon never heard of the tears people shed or the ways people tried to stop the tears. Sometimes when a star saws omething that shocked it too much it fell and brought a little piece of excitement to those the world. The moon in all its ignorance thought the world was happy. If it hadn't maybe it would have lost some of its shine and seen for itself. But as it was the butterflies continued to bring stories of cheer and the nymphs stories of fun./p
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p class="MsoNormal"It would always continue this way, the earth needed the moon after all and the stars were just there for prettiness. The moon would remain a jolly good moon, listening to the stories of happiness and to love, and shining on the world forever. br / Now with that she had written about the moon and she still could not remember what she was going to write about to begin with. It didn't bother her, now she had a story about the moon and what really matters is that had another story. For her if was another moment where she didn't let writers block become an existence. It will always be an odd concept to her. Next time maybe she will write about a carrot. It may not make a great story but it will make a story, and if there was no story there would never be any great./p