The Courage of the Moon

• Non-Fiction
• Diaries

								
The moon has been calling out to me recently, reaching for my attention. I notice her changing phases at the end of each day, and I find myself calling back. I love when she glows in response.

Moon, are you trying to tell me something?

I’m trying to listen, watching for your signs.
Emotionally, I’ve felt heavy. I reflect and remember. I even feel guilty for still hurting—hurt that feels inescapable. I don’t want anything from anyone anymore; I only call out to her. People aren’t there for me every night like the moon is.

Without fail, she shows herself to me, even when she’s only half of herself. How brave she is, to rise as the sole shining light in a world consumed by night and darkness. She climbs, like clockwork, knowing that each night she will take a different shape than the one before.

When I was a young girl, my mom would read me your stories as you illuminated my bedroom window. She would whisper, “Goodnight, moon,” as I tumbled into sleep. So now, I do the same. I stand alone and whisper to myself, “Goodnight, moon.”

I count on seeing you soon.
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