Light came pouring through my window and soaked through my retinas. I am baptized in fear. Searching for a clue to help me escape this mess. Life is a game and if you play it right, you’ll play forever. I choose no such thing. I’m going to tell you a story and I hate that I’m the main character. I’m going to rehearse each word for the sake of remembrance. I was born in the middle of a storm and when I came into the world, my cries brought the sky to tears and the treetops swayed in hopes to wake up the moon- when it woke, it shed light upon me and claimed every ember of my being. This is how I know I am made for the moon. I open my eyes and I’m seventeen and free. Roaming through an old graveyard hoping to befriend a ghost, because I have trouble letting go of these things. The ground feels lighter than I’m used to and I raise my palms to the sky in order to remind the universe that I too am made from shrapnel of the moon. Open my eyes and now I’m older, but feel younger. Why am I so much more reckless than before? Not the kind of recklessness that makes you worried, but the kind that makes you wonder. Makes you feel something that you never really thought about- it sounds like this: hovering to close to the edge of the cliff that’s on the south side of town and understanding that I’m close enough to fall, but I won’t. I keep my feet grounded in the ground beneath grounds that are considered trespassing. Reminding the world that even though you brought me here, I can choose when to leave. It’s stumbling out of a shitty bar, but understanding when to walk in line with the halos from a street lamp. The light swallows me and I’m reminded of how life felt before the bad things came ripping through like repercussions for these types of actions. Breathing heavy in my mind but trying not to make a sound because it’s past curfew and this town isn’t forgiving. It’s getting in that fast car with that quiet boy and craving the new pavement on the side streets that lead me home- tearing through the asphalt like smoke bursting through the air from the tires, from the summer heat, from the pressure I held on the steering wheel for too long- like the pressure in my head from the chaos. Screeching tires sound like a beautiful crescendo when you are built for that sort of thing. Finally halting and smiling in knowing that I played with my favorite kind of fire. The kind that doesn’t go out right away. And the moon gets brighter to make sure I actually go home. It begs me to rest. But I’m longing for my youth and I am searching around every corner of danger to find it, because I think it’s being held captive. The ransom is my restlessness and I keep that for my own self. The sun never loved me how I had hoped it would, so I sleep during its resurrection each morning and lurk in the shadows of its presence. These things are messy when your world is scarier than it was ever promised to be. When you feel like you need to give yourself space but you can’t, because you’re you. I’m soaking through everyone around me, but I’m thirsty and tired and I feel like falling into the moonlight for good. Stars scattered throughout the sky touch my palms and beg me to be still. Cut the damage with its gnawing stare. Coats me in water and I feel cleansed. I am quenched. Open the front door of the home I neglected and see tired eyes stare back at me through a shattered mirror. I ask if I’m okay. Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay? Tell me I’m okay again. Gently falling as my own hands brace me like a reflex in this constant state of stumbling. Stand back up and see the gaze of the moon through my window, putting me to sleep in the warmth of its glow. I need me here. I need me here. I need me here in order to be okay. AMT