She was the moon. Small and modest from a distance. Only soft, patient travel would unveil how colossal she was truly meant to be. Her secrets were evaporated at night and tucked away by morning. She disappeared and reappeared as if she’d never left; no one ever questioned it. She lived in silence because the sun’s rays spoke radiance for her. She was the moon because it took a great deal of strength to illuminate the sky despite nature’s intention to obscure it. She lived in phases, and like the moon, adapted to changes.