I think of high school.
When I look up at the moon, I think of high school. It’s big and noticeable and it keeps coming back. I need it, but I often don’t acknowledge it. It follows me. I look up at it every once in a while and take in how far away it really is. I can’t touch it. I can’t smell it, taste it, walk around on it, breathe in the environment around it.
It comes to me at night. When my life slows down, when my mind travels elsewhere.
It’s part of me. It’s been with me all these years. It will be with me for all my years to come. Who are we without the moon?