Megan told me about this motomail thing so I thought I'd give it a go- save on stamps and send packages instead. Although, I'm not quite sure what to send in a package yet. Don't worry, I'll get clever before you get home.
Will you marry me?
There is a certain star that hangs below the moon here. I know by now after years of visiting my grandfather in orem and him telling me over and over the name of the planet that shines so brightly in the sky just now that I should remember it's title. At this very moment that doesn't mean much.
Throughout history people have used the night sky for sentiment. Found solace in the stars. That small star, trying so hard to be bigger- mimicking the moon.
It's not the name of the planet, or the star or the sky in which it rests
tonight it is you.
You're not a planet. or a star or the moon
You're the mystery that surrounds the sky
the deepest hope of more.
During the day the sky plays a lighter role
literally and figuritively.
It hovers silently, blue and happy, uninterfering
lovely and cool.
It's that knight
that brings the dark, brooding corners of the human soul and paints it onto a still canvas.
It is so beautiful.
I wonder at that bright spot
how it hangs there,
happily in the middle of the darkness.
I see you. Do you see me too?