The sight of the moon never ceases to induce romantic inclinations in my mind and heart. Walking outside after work every night, I am greeted by the ever-changing stages of the moon, and I find myself constantly in awe at its power to direct my thoughts to sharing that particular view with one that I love. I find I have a hard time putting the sensation into words. It's like I step into view of the moon, and all of a sudden, anything is possible. Time is meaningless. Stress disappears. And in that moment, I am filled with a feeling that is half longing for something I have never had and half hope for something that I know will someday find me.
I realize it's a little cliche. After all, bad movies are filled with bad moon moments. Case in point- the ridiculous Dear John conversation of "the moon is never bigger than your thumb." Cheeseball to the max. However, I appreciate the sentiment of sharedness that comes with looking up at the nighttime orb and feeling something a little bigger than yourself. Feeling a part of something spiritual and otherworldly. Knowing that wherever they are, someone is seeing the same moon I am and sharing in the magic. It feels like a secret pleasure, meant just for me and whoever is open enough to appreciate the sight.
Every night the moon is slightly different, a shade larger or smaller than the night before. And yet, it brings with it a sense of homecoming, of feeling perfectly connected to ... something ... someone. Some nights, the luna halo gives me chills. Other nights, the moon is just a tiny sliver against the black abyss. And yet each night, it feels like it's all mine. I know someday I'll be able to share my moon with somebody. And we can sit out on the back porch, wine in hand, conversation soft and meaningful, watching it rise to light the night sky (because by that time, I'll no longer be working these ridiculous hours). And I'll know what moment each of my moon encounters was pointing towards. Until then, I drive home, eyes on the road but mind on the sky, enjoying the beauty of my own secret light. I can't help but wonder if the moon room of my childhood has me more inclined toward lunar romanticisms than the average person, but analyzing it makes some of the mysticism disappear. So I'll sleep tonight dreaming of the moon and all the romance (in the Chestertonian sense of the word) that it holds.