Sometimes I think about the moon and I get overwhelmed. Not in a negative way. I become entangled in its brightness and power and I feel small. Sometimes I look at the moon and I feel as if I am not here. Sometimes I think about all of the feelings that become a part of me when I am connected to myself and to the world and to the moon and to the ocean and I feel my most genuine.
I think about the moon and I am sad. Not for any reason. Not for any one thing. It has no purpose. My chest feels strange. I cry for the moon. I feel it pulse through me when I look up to it and I feel in my place and in wonder of it. I feel so small. I feel so connected. I feel so genuine.
My horoscope says Sunday’s full moon will be special. I can feel it. I want to better articulate how I feel in this moment, but at the same time I feel as if it is a feeling not meant to be fully specified. That’s what keeps it special.
The moon is magic and so am I.
I cry for us both.