The stars were in full blossom

He sat on a rock in the woods at night, enveloped in darkness. The world was quiet and calm around him, the only sources of light the stars and the silvery sliver that was all you could see of the moon that night. In darkness and quiet it was that he remembered that night the most vividly; the night when he lost all faith in himself, the night that changed him beyond repair. The night when he had made the worst misinterpretation of his life.

The look of shock on the man's face was etched to his memories so distinctly that sometimes he couldn't distinguish the real word in front of him from the memory, hovering in the middle of his vision. The scream of pain remained in his ears so unforgettably that sometimes even the love song of the cicadas was nothing but a constant repetition of the man's scream to him.

He sat on the rock for hours, thinking about that night. Some nights he tried to escape the thoughts, but he knew there was no way out; he would never stop, he would never be able to run away from it. He might as well give in and dwell on the memories until his muscles hurt from not moving for hours and the sleep-deprivation.

The night was dark, but that suited him just fine. The darkness hid the looks of despondency and disgust that took turns on his face, changing his features to those of a man much older than his years. In the darkness he wouldn't have to face accidentally seeing his own reflection on puddles or ponds. He barely recognized the reflection these days, anyway.

Just like on that night years ago, tonight the light of the moon was faint, but the stars were in full blossom.

He knew he wouldn't move until the sun came up, and that tomorrow night he would come to sit on the rock again, just like he had on countless other sleepless nights.