Issue 13 Responding

The night I met Giancarlo, I woke up with the moon on my mind. Her capricious nature. Her tides and her sway. How after the waning phases, she always rebuilt back into herself. How everything depended on everything else to function. I blinked past my cheap plastic furniture, translucent and pearl-like in the glow of my ceiling light, and tried to see myself reflected back in the moon. In my grime-resined window, I saw that she was nearly full. Only a dark sliver still absconded by the tilt of the Earth. Far away and lonely in the cloudless dome of night.