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The moon cries. Anger dripping from her eyes. She's pounding her fists on the table cracking shattering the table collapses. Her milky glow has been replaced with a dreamsicle orange. That was injected during dreamy summers. In fields of golden grain. She's now in full view. There's no hiding from her. She's resilient bright. Her scars are oceans of deep history. She's beautiful.