Young Writers Society

The moon has always held a special place in my heart. I have always loved the way it hung suspended in the sky like a piece of mirror, reflecting the glory of the sun yet without the blinding light. The moon has always been beautiful to me; it has always filled my soul with dreams.

Then you came along. The almost heart shaped moon snapped into something so much more than I could have ever imagined. The observant moon became a symbol, a reminder. It was in that pool of cream in the black sky that I saw your face and felt your fingers locked safely away in mine. I needed only to find the moon and my mouth would curve up into that lopsided smile that you loved so much.

The moon was the pale coin that pushed up over the mountains when we went to the Tercer Cielo concert. Only the glowing orange orb saw your arm slide over my shoulders for the first time. On that day, my heart saw only the moon’s light, felt only your arms and heard only the romantic music floating across the stadium and swirling around the pair of us like an anaconda, pushing us ever closer.

Even before that, it was the moon I was watching lovingly when your hand first landed in mine, when I first realized that you took my breath away. When I walked anywhere at night, it was the shining lemon slice above the houses that heard my whispered, “I wish you were here.”

The thumb sized rock was the one that had to put up with my sudden appreciation of chick flicks and the importance of its everlasting presence in every sky. It was the wheel of ice that carried my secret messages to you when you were gone. Only the moon was curious enough to see that every time my gaze fell upon it, you were in my mind. You, and only you.

At my party, the moon saw my joy, saw me trying to speak to all my guests and stand for all the pictures when in reality I just wanted to be with you. The sideways smile in the sky was the crescent that shone like a beacon pulling me out of the building and onto the stairs where you were waiting. The moon listened intently to your words, and who knows, maybe the moon laughed.

When we danced for the first time, and you whispered my name and tried to kiss me, the moon watched. When I shook my head and kissed your cheek instead, the moon wondered. When you pulled me away from the people and held me close and told me how much I meant to you, the moon stood like a sentinel above us. Then you pointed out its perfection and we danced in front of the shining window so that while I rested my head on your shoulder and admired its glory, you could do the same while contemplating the reflection.

Even during the day, the occasionally visible sliver of white watched from above, storing away all our memories and moments into its bombarded surface. Each crater hole seemed to be made for us to safely hide away a new word, a new proof of us and all we were.

Now, the moon remains, and each of those memories are still wedged between the rocks. When I see the glowing paleness of its reflective beauty, I will forever think of that first concert, that first dance. I will forever remember the way your fingers fit so well with mine. I will forever compare the moon’s brightness with the joy you made me feel. I will forever think of you.