The Moon saw her as a gloomy and sad young girl, sat at the table with balls of crushed paper, part of a thing that sometimes she called ‘draft’. Other times, especially if someone asked, she just name it ‘my wasted time and energy’.

Very clear that the moonlight was quite strong to stab the clouds, but not strong enough to penetrate her eyes. Sure, no light can reveal human’s real feeling, she mumbled. She decided to stare the moon longer. How do you see me now, Mr. Moon? Of course not a bright, independent, and intellectual woman. Anyway, you just another Mr. in my life. For you i’m always that little, fragile Eleanor.