The Language Of The Moon

She once wrote a letter to the moon.
She was tired of words of the kind "hope", "love", "fight".
She didn't understand them.
So she asked for a substitute for each of those; something she would understand, somethimg she'd feel.
The moon wrote back.
The moon said, it knew just what she needed. The moon called it "The Bulletproof Boy Therapy".
She wasn't very convinced, nothing had worked yet. Would the moon really be able to help her?
The moon smiled and said goodbye for the morning, saying that it would be back with the boys.
The moon's last statement wasn't convincing at all, in fact, she was doubting herself now. Were boys going to be her solution? It was absurd.

Morning went, and then came the moon. The moon sent her back a few CDs inside covers with writings on it in a language she did not know.
But there was nothing to lose.
So she decided to play the CDs. She understood nothing. The language gap felt a little large. She tried listening to them again.
Suddenly she could pick different emotions in the different records of music, each tantalizing a different emotion, and she didn't know why, but the gap was somehow smaller. She was understanding, without knowing.
She wrote another letter to the moon, asking if it knew what the language was? And what were the songs? Who sang them?
The moon said it was the boys she had been told about, they had sung them. That the language was something the moon didn't know if it could be called so, just a language, for their songs made it something else, but would like to henceforth call it the language of the moon.

Who were the boys? How many were they?
The moon said, they were seven in number. And that they were people like her, only that the moon had decided to give them gifts.

She asked the moon, if the moon had blessed them then. And couldn't the moon simply bless her too?
The moon wrote back, saying that it had blessed the boys, so it wouldn't have to bless anyone else.
She felt a little hurt, wasn't she worthy of being blessed by the moon specifically? But she dismissed the thought. The moon was a higher being, and she wasn't supposed to feel things anymore.

She asked the moon if it could tell her what the songs meant?
The moon sent her a thick book, where she found elegantly written explanations and translations.
She decided to give it a read.
Countless turns of moons later, she closed the book. She realized that she understood what they said, she could hear their songs inside of her through their voices, that she didn't need to write to the moon anymore, that she could feel.
For she had done it so for months now.

So she had been blessed.

She now called them her language, and she felt so much more bulletproof after them, than she ever did before.

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To Bangtan Sonyeondan, THANK YOU.