The Moon Chose You
I want to tell you a secret. You have to promise not to tell. Cross your heart, now hope to die. Are you ready? The moon can speak. Do you know what else? She wants to speak to you. You. The moon, that goddess of the night, wants to speak to you. But you are busy. You are unwinding after a long day at work. You just want to eat your dinner and watch this show in peace. Well, maybe just a few more episodes, and then you’ll hear what she wants to tell you. But now it’s 3:00AM and you have to be awake at 7:00. But it’s okay; it’s not like the moon won’t be in the sky tomorrow. She can talk to you then.
Do you remember when you thought the moon was beautiful? Do you remember when you used to stare at her and tell her that she was? Do you remember when you used to let her presence lull you to sleep, and when you told her you loved her every night before shutting your eyes? The moon remembers. You first told her you loved her when she was but a sliver of a crescent, barely more than new and nothing, and you told her you would love her always. Night by night she grew, and you loved her. But you were changing too. Or weren’t. The moon remembers when you let her presence lull you to sleep, and when you told her you loved her every night before shutting your eyes. And she remembers when you didn’t.
Do you remember the night the moon was full? No longer the sliver of the crescent with which you fell in love, but full and whole and radiant. Do you remember all the things you said to her? All the things you didn’t say? Do you remember what she told you? “I have always been this,” she said, “I was just covered in shadows.” But that was not the moon with which you fell in love. You didn’t have to say it for her to know it to be true.
She was full and whole and radiant, but you did not love her. Do you know what the moon did next? Were you watching? She pulled the shadows back over herself, sliver by sliver, hoping you would see her as you once had. Night by night she covered more of her radiance until she was no more than the barest sliver of a crescent once more. Do you love her now? Do you love her now that she has unmade herself, now that she is once again just barely more than nothing?
The moon is the barest sliver of a crescent but you are still unwinding from a long day at work; you still just want to eat and watch in peace. But tomorrow night the moon will not be in the sky. Tomorrow night she will be nothing. She will be new. And after she is new, she will not want to talk to you. And she will build herself up without you until she is full and whole and radiant, and maybe one day someone will love her every phase, even her fullness. Maybe then she will speak again, but it will not be to you.