A diary entry from about 2 months ago:
A couple of nights ago, I was settling into bed when I caught a glimpse of a strong, focused beam of white light — the moon — shining through the tall window that towers above my bed. I peeled the duvet off of me and hugged my knees as I looked straight into the soul of the bright luna that had fought its way through the puffs of grey speckling the skyscape. It wanted to be seen, and seen in my vision it was.
Sprawled over a patch of a bright green, prickly meadow, we breathed amidst the sounds of running water and rustling leaves. "I'll never be too far away when I leave," You whispered, "2.6 seconds away to be exact". I propped myself up with my elbows and chuckled, "You're soooo full of riddles, what do You mean?" "It takes light approximately 1.3 seconds to travel from Earth to the moon, and another 1.3 seconds to get back, so," You paused and tilted Your gaze to look straight into my eyes, "trust that when you look up at the moon, I'm looking at it too." I heaved a long sigh and collapsed back down onto the grass as I search for the luna playing hide and seek with us from behind the passing clouds. "It won't be the same," I managed.
Al was 2.6 seconds away that night.
I had just gotten off the phone with him. He’s back home, playing with Cacao (his pup), chasing sunrises, and scarfing down slices of his Mum’s (vegan) apricot pie. “The pie is still a winner”, he said. “I’m still dying to try them,” I replied. And then he’d chuckle that cheeky chuckle I loved. It — sprinkling ‘still’s into our sentences — makes me smile, for it holds within itself promises of future plans and memories.
I hummed a lullaby that Mum always sang whenever my sister or I had difficulties sleeping as little girls. Just as the last note left my lips, the moon slipped behind the clouds, and, slip I did as well — first under my duvet, and then into my dreams.
Good night, diary x