Blood Moon…

A time whispered about in folklore, feared by many, honored by few. To most, it is celestial... an eclipse, a phase, a red glow staining the heavens. But to some of us… it is something far more intimate. It is a time of reckoning. Of silence so thick, it wraps around the soul like a velvet curtain. The night is deep. Unforgiving. The wind carries not songs, but sighs from things long buried. And in that blood... soaked light… one feels the weight of what was lost, what was never had, and what might never come. Loneliness sharpens during this hour. Not the ordinary ache of solitude... no, something colder. A hollowness that hums in the chest, that looks back at you through your own reflection with knowing eyes. The heart remembers. Its void grows louder. Every beat echoes like a question in the darkness. And beneath it all... the monsters crawl. Not under your bed, but inside your mind. Whispers of failure, regret, desire, hunger... they rise during the blood moon. They stretch their limbs and ask you, “Will you be next?” But perhaps, in this darkness, you find not despair... but truth.

Because when the world is stripped of color, and all that’s left is red and black, only then can you see what lives in your soul. What you love. What you fear. What you are.

And what you’ve become... What you truly are...

Circle...