Well?

The moon rose from her throne in the sky just one inch, tonight. There is something too pure about the night. Not "pure" as in "innocent". But "pure" as in still. If I stand still enough, I can hear the trash of the city roll beneath my feet. A man just came outside from his home, upstairs. I guess he saw me standing above the city's trash and staring at the moon. I wonder how many other people have done the same thing when I wasn't looking. How many other people mistook me for phantoms of forgotten love dead mothers twisted stories. I must be an urban legend by now. It is odd to think that I came from a star. Something so big yet so small in our eyes. It's hard to think that I came from a star because while all I ever do is look up at them I only ever look down on myself. I'm going home, now. I am afraid to walk in between the cars, that little gap. Mom says animals, monsters hide beneath them. And, while I scoff at this thought when it's light, I very much heed this thought at night. And, because I love this woman, this round-eyed ignorant woman, I think she's right.