The moon and me...

If the crescent moon asked me to come over and share milk and cookies before bed, I would. And I would sit in the small space before the curve, legs folded underneath, and I would listen to his tales of how long he and Earth have been friends and he would tell centuries-worth of stories spanning every continent that would make my problems seem so insignificant that when I finished my milk and he lowered my feet to land I would sleep soundly, for the first time in a long time, and in the morning my feet would touch bare floors without a care in the world.