I wrote a long, long letter to the moon.
It glows silver against the midnight sky.
I don’t know why I wrote it because the moon is too far away for the mailman to deliver it.
But I did it anyway, hoping that if the moonlight felt my sincerity, it’ll deliver it for me.
I wonder, what’s the stamp-age on a letter this long?
Would I be able to accomplish sending it to the moon? Would I be able to reach the moon from where I am, feet placed on the earth?
And if the impossible were to happen,
would the moon recognize that its glow gives me light, when all I see is darkness?
That, when I feel like the earth is going to cave under me,
and I’m underwater, suffocating.
That you give me solid ground and breathe air into my lungs
But I realize then that if the moon can lend me its moonlight from 238,900 miles away and lighten up the abyss I feel inside, maybe my letter can travel through space and land in her hands.
I looked out the window today, staring up at the moon and it was blinding,
rejuvenating,
and comforting,
as if the moon was trying to communicate with me.
“Thank you.”