The moon rests in the darkened view, encompassed by an ocean of stars. I stare at it from below — a mere speck compared to its greatness. The grass I stand on graces my ankles as the winds carry the scent of fresh rain across the fields. I hear a whistling sound hovering between my ears in a dazed state, wandering around in an empty void.
A silence like this is a needle in a haystack. To be treated with such serenity is almost a service from the heavens. I am afloat. I am awake. And I stand before an open land of hills overrun by a hazy mist. Glowflies soar across the horizons, glittering my sight in a tinted brightness. I thank them for their work in keeping my world a beauty to witness. Thus, I leave them clinging to me as their buzzing rings in my ears, a harmonious noise.
And despite everything that surrounds me, my eyes are still fixated on the floating fingerprint above. The rough circular shape of a glowing rock, the craters which dig deep into itself, the mark it leaves for all to see. It exceeds all I have seen from the grounds I remain. No matter how long I lay my sights on such rocky terrains, I'm no less grateful when sitting before this lunar sun.
I reach my hand towards its gleam, acting as if doing so can bring its gaze to my arms. Opening and closing my fingers, I picture myself enrapturing its shine and meeting it face to face. Maybe if I take a few steps forward, I can grab it. Maybe, just maybe.
But that never seems to be the case. Every leap of effort is only a few inches closer to an undisturbed dream. I can only imagine the contrast between its smoothness and roughness intertwined into a ball of burning shade. It's like I can never fulfil this goal which mocks my grounded passion.
However, tonight is unlike any other.
I have in my hands a piece of paper — a simple, A4-sized sheet of white. My thumb rubs against its surface as I glance over it, sighing in preparation. One would question the practicality of using something as ordinary as rectangular blankness. But a sense of innovation follows mundanity. With dull comes the light of creativity. And tonight is a prime example of said inventiveness.
I fold the paper in half, twice the width. Fold it again, four times its width. One more fold, and you get its width times eight. As the page's ends meet, it gives me double its previous size. Sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four, one hundred and twenty-eight. It starts small, but with each passing moment, my chances shoot higher and higher. An endpoint is in my sight.
With one more half, I find myself halfway there. The folding tower pierces the exosphere, emerging in a floating state. Gravity ceases from above, making it hard to keep it balanced. And yet, I persist. Taking in a deep breath and shutting my eyes tight, I place all my might into one more fold.
Sweat trickles down my face as the final puzzle piece settles, fitting into this intricate monument. A jagged staircase now stands between me and my destination, the ends connecting both worlds like a delicate bridge. Despite how thin the line roping together these two celestial bodies is, my leg hesitates no more and takes its first step.
One small fold for man, one giant reach for a dream beyond them.
The journey there feels like a fever dream as I walk past the glistening lights in the distance. My feet sense a lightness when stepping through these impossibilities. They move. They glide. They feel like treading through an empty sea. I sing myself a lone orchestra as I reach in to take back my breath from the natural satellite.
My foot slowly drifts to touch the stony surface. I see myself bending down to smear my hands in the moon's texture. Brightening dust hangs through the lack of atmosphere. I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders as I silently walk around and see it for myself. My life has never been more beautiful than before. I shed a tear as I stand before all my efforts blooming into fruition.
If only the world can see me now.