24 February 2015
It seems hopeless. It seems like the world’s an ugly place. Ever since you told me, ever since I knew, ever since we lived.
Do you remember the beach? The sand, the trees, the water, salty in our wounds. It stung, but it cleansed. Do you remember the night? The moon, the stars, the glow, faces smiling through it all. We were never tired, getting to sleep thinking we’d wake early and continue, instead missing breakfast by hours. It didn’t bother us.
I want to go to the moon and back. Visit all the moons in this system; go beyond; go far. Pick and place a single pinch of moon-dust from each in little glass boxes, meet up anew one day, you’ll barely grasp a faded memory of me, and gift you the whole set just so that, maybe, with a bit of luck, you’ll remember this from
a long time ago.