Do you ever have moments when you remember vividly driving down dark country roads in the middle of a summer night? Windows down. Radio on. All alone. Just you and the moon and stars.
You pass the neighbor’s tiny retention pond and see the reflection of the moon and the stars and desperately want to sit on the end of the genuine wood pier with your legs dangling over the edge and the water lapping your bare pink toes. You want to roll around in the cool grass staring at the sky until your eyes dry up.
And all you can think about is how you can’t take it all in—how you wish someone would crack open your sternum and pry apart your ribcage with cold silver spoons because you feel that is the only way to let the moon and stars inside of you.
How this is the only thing you can think of. How you long for this feeling because it is both everything and nothing all at once.