FOOL'S MOON

For days I lay in wait,

Thirsty for a love that

always shows up when it’s

too late.

Broken and exhausted, I

sat in stillness.

Mending my own heart,

under a full moon

Breathing in the last

embers of the night

While the moonlight

washes over me

And whispers yet again,

‘Wake up, and you will

see, this is how it has

always been’

Gypsy at heart, The Senti-Mentalist recalls her memory as a young girl in her early teens, alone in her bed at night, way past her bedtime, with a torch under her blanket, glued to her book, hoping her mother doesn’t catch her awake, reading and drifting away to other worlds instead of getting a good night’s sleep before school the next day.