Missing and Found

Remember the time when we found ourselves next to each other, sitting in my backyard, surrounded by the song of the crickets that had not yet hidden for autumn. Millions of dreams were hung up in the sky, waiting to be captured. You, so comfortable with brick walls and screaming sirens, found yourself staring at nothing but me and dreams illuminated. I still remember that night. The moon. It was the night after a full moon, and if you looked close enough at it, you could see the tiny sliver missing, invisible unless you knew it wasn’t there in the first place. Your arm was housing me from the elements of hearts at risk. Your silence was telling me stories your lips couldn’t possibly form. And your chest was my brick wall. And I wondered how you could look at me, enveloped by the velvet touch of a breeze and five-pointed dreams and rustic leaves, and still think I’m beautiful. Do you remember that night? That was the night I reached up, with your hand guiding mine, and found the missing shard of the moon.