The moon glares at me.

Solitary and cold, dressed elegantly with the dark blue-black hues of the night sky. I reach out to touch it, but I never can. It always draws away.

Yet, the moon pulls me in like a tide

And I'm enveloped by a sea of emotion.

I chase the moon as it darts ahead. Ever ahead. I throw out my arms; I want to catch it.

Soft, pale white, like porcelain. I don't want to break it, so I let the moonbeams fall on me.

I close my eyes and picture myself in the cradle of the crescent moon, peaceful. High up in the sky, away from everything.

Just the moon and me.

The night is cold and sometimes harsh.

But there will always be a star

Glimmering in the black pool of the heavens.

I wish on that star. I never want to let the moon escape me. I keep chasing.

It wordlessly lights my way