The moon and I

There was a full moon today. And being on the late night shift meant that I followed the moon to work. And followed it back home as the sun rose.

It looked so beautiful in the sky that I had to work doubly hard to concentrate on the road to keep from being distracted by it.

And as I watched it I thought of us. Of our conversations about it.
Of Goa, when we spoke of the tides and how the moon calls to the sea.
Of Hampi, when we discussed why we had to give it a gender at all and how I got lost in that conversation.
Of how our childhoods were spent visualizing the moon as 'chanda mama'; how it is also known as a woman with blemishes and how she casts such a spell.
Of that really corny movie dialogue which is something to the effect of 'when I look at the moon even when you aren't around I know that wherever you are, you are looking at the same moon.'

More than anything else, I realized how much can be connected to something as incongruous and common as a full moon day.
The desire to be with you, the memories of conversations, the fleeting snapshots of meetings, the romanticism of the poets and the science behind the tides.

You will always be my moon.
Lighting up the dark of my night.
Disappearing when the morning comes.
Living on reflected beauty but being all the more beautiful for it because one can actually look directly at the moon with no fear of being blinded.
Mysterious and so very very far away.

I will always be the tide.
Constantly running to catch you.
Dancing at your whims and fancies.
Stretching out to you at your slightest call.

And always, always, falling just a little bit short of actually finding you.