by the light of the moon, I see you.
That full moon the other night sure was something, eh?

I went for a walk in the evening through a part of the city not too far from here that I hadn’t explored yet. The only thing I could see clearly was the beautiful moon and the outline of trees, the line where tracks had been for over a hundred years, now gone, houses up on their lawns. I stood under a bridge (the one I go over to get to school) and felt like a troll in my big green coat, my discomfort in my weighed down self (how self-conscious I felt when I first set out) and then I stopped judging myself and just let myself enjoy the moonlight. The moon doesn’t care if I’m fat or not, doesn’t withhold light from me over anyone else. Nothing surface matters under the moon. I felt better as I walked on and explored that bit of quiet space, tucked in between city traffic up above on the left side, rows of somewhat expensive houses up on the left, a neighborhood I trudged up into through red wet autumn leaves settled into a sunken spot against the ravine-like earth wall. There was a moment earlier where I stood in awe further back looking up at reeds with soft feathered tops that were twice, maybe three times the height of me. In the moonlight they towered over me with the shorter ones waving together like tall corn. I wanted to keep heading toward the moon but knew I had to shift back in the direction for home. I found a joined tree of three individual trucks spread out like an open flower just on the edge of someone’s private property next to a church. I leaned back against it, still standing, and had a great view of the moon. I made my wishes and promises to myself like most of us do who stand alone in the night, looking up at the moon. I took a turn and found myself somewhere I hadn’t been in years, not realizing this place was so near where I currently live. It was another reminder that I used to have a life here all those years ago, one where I had less inhibitions and more confidence in myself, less fear overall. I realize that having gone through what I did in the past six or so years has had a definite paralyzing effect on me but a few experiences recently have triggered my memory of things not always being this way. To be like I am now, where days could pass without me stepping outside my apartment door, in contrast to how fearless I was to wander and explore the outside as a kid.

Last week I was stopped when leaving the school parking lot (on foot) and it turned out to have been John, someone I knew from before I moved away at the age of 14. I was surprised that he remembered me. He said that I look like Amber. I was remembered for being me! I look like me. This clicked something inside. I can’t explain it. As I continued home and his car turned the corner, a bit of my memory came back – the last time we spoke on the street in front of his house at the time, talking about how we’d always be friends, the way he gave the best hugs and how I was able to receive them, the time he sang the praises of Madonna’s “Immaculate Collection”, that necklace he gave me one Christmas that I had to give back to him because my step-mother disapproved – it all came back and I felt happy because most of all, it reminded me that being me was enough, it’s always been enough and even now, I am enough.

Somehow, I need to let myself believe this on all those days where I can’t see the moon and when it feels like no one can see who I am.

ORIGINALLY POSTED ON LJ: November 7th, 2006, 07:32 pm

text message(s)
6:22pm
I’m standing in the moonlight in a spot where train tracks used to be. The night is. I am. I should do this more often.

6:40pm
With my back against an old tree, I looked up at the full November moon through reaching autumn branches.

6:46pm
(1)
Moon so bright over this city, if they turned off the lights it would seem like they’re still on.

(2)
Did you see that girl standing in the leaves looking up at the moon?
(she was there and then she was gone)

Original LJ tags: poetry & prose, tweets & text messages

ORIGINALLY POSTED ON LJ: November 5th, 2006, 06:22 pm