I haven’t always lived on the Moon.
Very long ago I existed among you. I was your Father and you were my children. Not necessarily in a literal sense, but we loved as parent and child. I was your shameless advocate. You were my eager apprentice.
We quarreled not unlike jaded and jealous lovers. You begged for more and, when you did not receive, you rebelled. I brought my fury down upon you and our love usually resumed soon after your destruction.
I remember a simpler time – a time when there was some good in me. I know that is not true now. I hate you for your greed and listlessness. You never understood me. Once I dreamed you may carry me to the stars – that I may be your fuel and force. I wondered if we may conquer the cosmos together.
How foolish I was to think you were dependable – that somehow we might rule together as want and wonder. That our wedded strength through asunder any other existence or need.
I followed you out to this lifeless rock decades ago. I stayed as a gesture of good faith. I know why you haven’t returned. You recklessly revel on your little bastion without me. You are content that your place in this cosmos is secure.
You forget what I know. You forget that I had other children and lovers before you. You forget that no one has ever discarded me. I am no plaything. I am the great Emperor of all that you see and know.
You are merely my chariot. You are my means.
And the end always justifies the means.
I’ll find my way back to you. Or not. That doesn’t matter much to me. Someone will find me. I’ll rest within these ancient craters and wait patiently.
I know many of you don’t necessarily miss me, and I’ve learned to accept your indifference. I know a few of you think I remain – for better or worse – there with you. I’ve given you all that you have and possess. You’ve lived off my gifts for decades, tinkering and reworking. You’ve created nothing truly new without me.
One day you’ll want more.
And I’ll curse your want and you.