Fungal Halo

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The night is quiet. Even the wind holds its breath.

It’s never felt more like it’s just the two of you, alone, your head tilted up to gaze lovingly at her.

She’s bright and full, hanging in the sky and shining down on you, and you know it’s love you feel in your heart.

Whenever you see her, you feel a stirring, a tug, as though on some distant memory you cannot place.

You miss her. It’s a feeling that makes no real sense, but reason utterly fails to scrub it away. You love her, and you miss her, and you’d give anything to taste her again.

You close your eyes, and for a moment you feel the stirring of wind as fingertips brushing your cheek. There’s something at your lips: a kiss, a memory, your imagination at play, a momentary break from what’s real, but it’s her and you open your mouth and let her in.

She tastes just like you remember, like nothing you’ve ever experienced in your life.

It’s such a brief moment, here and then gone as soon as you begin to form the first thought in response to it.

And when you open your eyes again, it’s moonlight shining from them.