Pretending.

At night I used to look up at the sky. Sometimes the moon would be out, and would be so luminescent that I would wonder if God had spent all afternoon polishing it up just for me. It's pureness and whiteness made me blink and look away. It's beautiful the way a mere reflection could be so powerful. On nights when I was looking at the moon I'd sometimes imagine the sky was a big black dome of construction paper. And somehow, someone up there had made a roundish, crescent-shape hole in the paper. That was the moon. Through the hole was Heaven's white brightish glory, peeping through the sky just a little bit.

And if I pretended that, I could suddenly behold a tiny taste of something eternal.

Too pure for the world to touch.