I don’t share the enthusiasm of watching the Sun rise. Described by many as a beautiful sight, an action of pure rapture. I find that untrue, and the thought of watching the Sun rise makes me want to vomit. I don’t care too much for the Sun, The Moon has always seemed far more intriguing. The Moon doesn’t blind your eyes in complete resentfulness when you glare at it. Nor does it scorch and sear your skin if you sit in it’s light for long periods of time. The Moon would never be so arrogant. An observer of the night. It is all knowing, a trustworthy comrade. As lonely as you may be, no matter where you are, you can always look up and it will look right back at you. Sometimes of course it will only reveal parts of its anatomy, but we are all guilty of such secrecy. I refuse to believe man landed on the Moon. To claim such a feat is treason. What will they do next? Try and catch it with a giant fishing net. Drag it down to Earth and parade it through freak shows across the globe. Mocking it’s ugly craters with pointy sticks, jeering and heckling until the muscles in the lining of their stomachs ache. I suppose I owe the Sun one form of gratitude. Without the Sun of course, I wouldn’t be able to see the Moon. I think I might wait around for the Sun rise this morning…just to show my appreciation. Just this once.