I told him of when I was younger, how I thought the moon always followed me as I walked and looked at it. He said that’s what his younger self believed, too. I talked about how I used to stare at it and think that daytime was swallowed by the moon at night, reason for its splendor. Day skies hid itself in the innermost part of the moon. And days were reborn, ran freely in the horizons, or spat out by the moon come morning. It didn’t really make sense, but he found it interesting. He said that the moon could be a place to preserve the day’s memories. Whenever a person felt sad at night, he only needed to look at the moon to remind him of the day’s joy. I wanted to ask my friend: what if a person never had a happy moment in a day? I didn’t ask, anyway. It felt too heavy for the inner children in us then.
But tonight, the answer comes to me: he will look for the moon, but he will not find it.