The moon is stunning tonight. Slim and crooked and stunning.
The boy lives in the shadow of the dark side of the moon. He points a flashlight in its direction but it's light falls upon only velvet blues. He searches. He sits under singing willows as the sun dips and writes out to her, folding each piece into neat paper airplanes released to the night breeze. The wind carries them far and wide across the misty lakes and lands them gently back at his feet. He wonders where she's gone. Perhaps he hasn't heard of an eclipse.
For now he throws pebbles into the dark till the stars lead him home.
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