the full moon taunts me from above
like a frightened cop's flashlight
blinding, ready to pounce
"alone again, are you?" the moon scoffs
"yes," I reply
"by choice?"
"I'm a bit worn down, moon, to tell you the truth. I don't know if I'm capable of going out and pretending to be something I'm not anymore. I'd rather be by myself, honestly"
the moon pauses
and pauses some more
before it speaks
"then you shall become like me. viewed from another world, trapped in plain sight. although some find you beautiful, they'll never be able to touch you, to know you. I was once like you before I ended up here. it gets cold. enjoy being in the light of others. you don't need to be anything you're not. I sometimes wish I was the sun but there are things we can't become"

If I could only sit still, I would write a million words about us, about you, about me at the bottom with my hands on that rock.
Scratching my fingernails against it so that I could go home and complain to you about how much my tiny hands hurt, and how I could not hold them in yours.
If I could hold my train of thought, I would type out a memoir about you and me and the time we decided to make love in a parking garage elevator late at night, my back against the glass. And who might’ve seen us while they walked home.
Their names and their faces, all those people that aren’t us. I would write about how when those doors opened, the world outside had changed and so had we.
If I could keep my fingers steady, I would dial your number on my telephone. I would cry your name into the speaker, and I would wait patiently for you to take me back.
I would be on hold forever.