Dear Moon

Dear Moon, I went back to the parking spot last week to see if the sky was any clearer this time. Every time I drive by I see you being formed in the constellations, only to realize that you weren’t a star but a comet passing by. We grazed hands and at long-last, a probe wasn’t landed; I can’t say that much for you from before.
Dear Moon, I know that I cannot say anything, and that I really shouldn’t, but it’s so hard when others question.
Dear Moon, I wish I could return to that night with you. I wish I could return to that hill with you. I wish I could’ve brought another blanket to keep us warmer. I wish we could’ve stayed at the top without being bothered. I wish we wouldn’t have had to drive so far just to park in that damned lot. I wish we could’ve stayed longer. I wish I would’ve been stronger. I wish I could’ve done something different. I wish I could’ve worked up the courage.
Dear Moon, I wish upon this shooting star that maybe, a new light will come back.
I wish, GOD DAMMIT, I wish I could go back.
Dear Moon, those four short weeks of separation did nothing to quell a fleeting fancy.
Did I really expect anything different from myself?
No. No, I didn’t do anything different and I couldn’t have done anything different. That’s the whole point; I couldn’t have been any different and you couldn’t have been any different. In that exact instant we both were perfect, but not perfect enough.
Dear Moon, I know that we can continue on like nothing has changed, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to forget my stupidity and your rigidity.
“Hey Moon, please forget to fall down. Hey Moon, don't you go down.”
You should never be forced to crash, but for this long night, tonight,
you
are
hidden