I sit here, daintily on the crescent moon, having tea with the rabbits. My leg dangles over the side, the tea pot, still steaming, hangs from the top. Down, down, down doth my hair cascade towards the earth, tied off with a blue ribbon that resembles a thin yet swelling river. The night, it goes on and on for me, I am sleepless though I do not need sleep. The rabbit asks me; “would you like some more tea?” it brings me out of my thoughts, out of my basking in the light from below and from above and from all around me. I politely ask the rabbit “What does thou havest for tea?” The rabbit smiles at me and slips a box towards me, it’s red one of the brightest reds that I have seen, the color rivaling against even the brightest star in my sky. He lifts the lid, carefully and I gaze upon the medley of different teas, the scents wafting upwards into the sky and I swear, I can almost hear the stars themselves sniff and sigh in delight. I bring my knees up to me, curling inwards slightly, and a smile tugging like a string to the corners of my lips. I point and the rabbit smiles once more. “A wise choice, Princess of the moon.” I gather the tea pot once more, taking my selection and lightly drawing the lid and it’s seal back. There is a rush of air, the container gasping for air. Perhaps it was breathless and was simply waiting and holding it in until someone who cared released it and allowed it to breathe once more. I slip the bag from its home, holding it gently as if a fragile being. I draw the tea pot down once more, opening the lid and allowing the droplets of golden water to become distant stars in the sky. I take the kettle in my hand, being oh-so very careful of it as I gently place the tea inside, tucking it in for its perpetual slumber. I hold it up, stars winking out as they slowly pour, hot and steamy into the kettle. I can feel the bubbles in my hands, in the kettle. It tickles almost. Soon enough there is once again a balance of stars in the sky and stars in my kettle for the best brew for me to drink and for me to share with the only guests that visit me. If it were not for the rabbit and the constellations that lightly kiss the sky good morning and lightly slide away as it ushers a soft goodnight, I would be a very lonely moon. The rabbit extends his small paw outwards, his little pads are fingers that curl around the handle of the tea cup, delicately holding it there as he awaits the tea. I take the kettle once more in my hands, having set it aside on the small crescent of the moon, the cool white softening slightly as it cools the kettle. I gently pour it into the hanging tea pot, having crafted it the last nights from the moon itself, watching the wisps of the steam gently caress the sky before becoming part of the moon once more. I set aside my kettle once more. “Thank you, sir rabbit.” I murmur as I pour the tea. Perhaps, one day, when he visits me when my moon is full, we will be able to have biscuits with our tea. Until then, I am content with just his assortment of teas that he so graciously shares with me. This is how the nights are, hair flowing like the sea, white like clouds and the softest that you could feel, the moon slowly growing, slowly shrinking, as I share tea with a friend and with that I am content.
NONSENSE. EVERYONE MUST WORSHIP THE GOD OF TOBLERONE!