It use to follow me.
High in the sky,
just far enough so I could see.

I wondered why,
then wished I could fly,
Just so I could ask,
Why is it you follow me?

I'd been driving,
just as the moon came arriving.
it followed me, through various trees and branches.
It followed me home, and wouldn't leave.

As a little girl I'd thought it was only for me.
That the moon was something only I could see.
I shooed it away,
and promised I'd allow it to come back another day.
Still it never went away.
   I began to think of the moon,
as a passenger in my life.
It was always present, and reassuring in times of chaos and strife.
Only natural that I allowed it to become my friend.
My persistent passenger.

I'd forgotten about it now
older and more jaded.
I wonder why I'd forgotten.
Why I could only vaguely remember my simple wishes to fly.