Dear, Moon

Dear, Moon, I went back to the parking spot last week to see if the sky was any clearer this time. Every time I drive by I see you being formed in the constellations, only to realize that you weren’t a star, but a comet passing by. We grazed hands and at long-last, a probe wasn’t landed; I can’t say that much for you from before.

Dear Moon, I know that I cannot say anything, and that I really shouldn’t, but it’s so hard when others question.

Dear, Moon, I wish I could return to that night with you. I wish I could return to that hill with you. I wish I could’ve brought another blanket to keep us warmer. I wish we could’ve stayed at the top without being bothered. I wish we wouldn’t have had to drive so far just to park in that lot. I wish we could’ve stayed longer. I wish I would’ve been stronger. I wish I could’ve done something different. I wish I could’ve worked up the courage.

Dear Moon, I wish upon this shooting star that maybe, a new light will come back.

I wish, I wish I could go back.

Dear, Moon, those four short weeks of separation did nothing to quell a fleeting fancy.

Did I really expect anything different from myself?

No. No, I didn’t do anything different and I couldn’t have done anything different. That’s the whole point; I couldn’t have been any different and you couldn’t have been any different. In that exact instant we both were perfect, but not perfect enough.

Dear Moon, I know that we can continue on like nothing has changed, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to forget my stupidity and your rigidity.

You should never be forced to crash, but for this long night, tonight,

you

are

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