To the Boy by the Window

You did not know why you loved the moon so much.

You only knew that some nights felt easier than others.

When the clouds covered most of the sky and the wind moved through the trees, you would sit near the window and look outside for longer than anyone understood.

There were things you wanted to tell someone.

Small things.

Songs you liked.

Thoughts you had.

Places you wanted to see.

But there was no one you knew how to give them to.

So you kept them.

You became very good at keeping things.

I wish I could tell you that this would not always feel like strength.

One day you would realize that carrying everything alone made you tired.

You would begin wondering what it might feel like to have a person who knew the small things too.

Someone to send a song to.

Someone who would understand why a certain kind of rain made you quiet.

Someone you could turn toward when the moon was beautiful.

You used to look at the dark road outside and imagine walking until nobody knew where you were.

I understand now.

You were not looking for danger.

You were looking for a place where the world would stop watching long enough for you to hear yourself.

I wish I could sit beside you at that window.

I would not ask you to explain anything.

I think I would just look at the moon with you.

And when the wind became loud, I would tell you something you would not understand yet:

one day, you will realize you were never asking for too much.

You only wanted somewhere you could exist without being afraid of being seen.