It was a full moon when she fell in love. The usual side visible to the earth was alabaster, like his complexion. The stars hid behind thin clouds, the way the words did inside her heart. As the earth spun around its usual course, she didn’t; she was in a timeless place where only the ones who truly loved could enter. The door was only one; the people very few. Every unfamiliar face greeted her with such warmth it felt like family. Her heart squeezed, then spluttered. So eager to experience this, if this was what they call love. How can such an indescribable feeling be compressed into a little, four-letter word? She was walking but she was flying. She was quiet but she was singing. She was smiling but she was weeping, with so much joy that there were fireworks lighting her up from the inside.
The door she opened to this place was nondescript; it was amber, and that was its only distinguishing feature. It looked like a door anybody could unlock. Just a little shove. There wasn’t even any handle. Then she noticed it was ancient, faded, fraying at the edges. It puzzled her, how easy the portal to love seemed.
She looked up, up at the full moon. Slightly obscured by a blanket of clouds, it still shone with an intensity that made her think of unspent passion, of unsaid words, of things yet to be unraveled. Her face was illuminated in a hopeful sheen.
Turning, she looked again at the old, amber door that was the entrance to love, to what everybody had been looking for. It was so vivid, so there. But people were passing by it, indifferent. Maybe because it was so old? Then a realization hit her in the gut, and her pounding heart nearly broke: People were indifferent to the door, because they couldn’t see it.
She sighed, long and forlorn. Looking up, the alabaster moon seemed to reach out and whisper in her ear: Make them see it.
The smile she wore touched her eyes, making them twinkle. She was very glad it was a full moon when she fell in love.