Push, Pull

Have you taken the time to look at the moon lately?

I have.

In fact, it's becoming something of a ritual, this moon gazing. Staring into the dark, night sky, looking for a familiar face.

Ritual.

Something that's been missing from my erratic, scattered life. Neither here nor there. Both here and there.

Everywhere.

Ever changing, always the same; such is the paradox of the moon.

The moon itself a constant, our perception, changing. What we see as opposed to what actually exists. Starting to sound familiar?

Lately I've felt as if every cell in my body is changing. Vibrating, explosive. On the verge. Of something. Do I look any different to you? Maybe, maybe not. Perception, huh?

Push, pull, sometimes waning, sometimes full.

We can look at the same thing every day, and still be surprised to discover something new. Is it all in the angles? Distance? Some kind of chemistry? I wouldn't know, I failed chemistry. And trigonometry. I can barely spell them, what would I know.

And then, after a while of not looking, thinking we remember all the intricacies, intimacies, we are drawn out into the evening, neck craning, searching for constant only to be confronted by change.

Trigonometry? Chemistry?

As elusive as the moon.

Push, pull, push, pull. Sometimes waning, sometimes full.