I don’t believe in God, but sometimes I talk to the Moon.

If I’m alone and listen carefully, it whispers to me.

I usually begin with a question.

“Am I going to be okay?”

You’ll see, with time.

Deep breath in

“But will I be happy?”

I hope so.

Exhale

Never a concrete answer

At least I’m left recharged.

 

The Moon walks me to the next destination,

Watching over me while guarding all the secrets of the Universe.

 

We rarely speak.

You see, the Moon can’t reveal all it knows.

I try to understand.

I don’t like to overstep my bounds, but sometimes I cave.

After a night of heavy drinking, I curse at the sky.

“Show me the fucking way! Please?”

Relax. You know I can’t.

“Fine.”

Did you have fun tonight?

“Yeah I guess. I met some cool people”.

Good.

 

We’re better off when we don’t talk.

I’ll bring a glass of red wine, my journal, and a blanket up to the roof.

I find the Moon among the stars and smile,

Feel the pulse of its glow on my skin and in my heart.

I settle into the comfort of this silent greeting,

Sit deep within the cool glow

As it feeds me new ideas.

I descend into a flurry of dreams like a child.

 

The Moon’s gaze is often turned away from me too.

Its familiar glow bestowed upon someone else.

I’m a small fragment of something infinite

And that is truly enough.

Even without all the answers,

I feel full.