The pencil scraping along the paper, forming a masterpiece taken straight from the mind and the nerves along my spine was a lullaby. And so I drew a gorgeous, full moon and shaded its craters, I drew furious ocean waves because my Science teacher told me there was a relationship between the moon and the ocean. It was so intriguing to know the closer the moon, the more revolting and furious the waves. But my Art teacher also told me that art is a form expression. I was expressing my feelings, explaining our situation, and my brain and hand agreed to compare us to the moon and the ocean because that's what we were. You were always so beautiful yet distant; watched and loved by everyone, but explored by few. I was always so revolting and mysterious, no one willing or able to reach the depths and hollows of me; better maps of the surface of Mars than my vast ocean floor. We were so distant and different yet I needed you to be. You were always waking up every emotion I thought I had been drained of; turned my lowest tides to crashing, fierce waves; always dependent of your full or new state. You are my moon and I am your ocean; so different yet it feels so right. The ocean wasn't so realistic until I felt salty tears of it run down my cheeks, there was no more silence. I was at low tide, and I needed my moon.