Universal.

The sky frowned upon this new shape, this new form. The moon tossed and turned in her sleep, and the sun wept for the moons grieve.

She knew that she had changed, that she was growing. But the moon wanted her to stay pristine. Clean. Not this drama filled crime scene. She was the land, her mother the moon, her father the sun, her lover the ocean.

Her mother saw what she had become. Repulse. Her mother turned away, wept still. As her child became filth, pollution, unsanitary. The roads of her mind blocked with though, where to go? Where to turn? There was nowhere to move. But the earth saw her own problems, tried every day to face them. The moon still wept, turning away from the land. The moon was deceived by the people that filled the lands heart, these lies filling the land. When the land cried for the moon in her sleep, the moon was no longer there.

There was no longer light in the dark. The sun rose and set, but the moon never came.

The sea, confused by its never changing tides in the moons absence. Held her every peice, gently washed onto the shores, trying to calm, to fill the voids always missing. After the storms cleared, the moon would see and rest its weary head once again alongside the stars.

Because the land loved the moon, but alas moon: You are not the sun. You are not the water. You brought me light, but you cannot make me grow. I have to learn for myself, spread my own lungs. Grow my own roots.