Ironically, stories and blog posts loomed in my head as I stared at the moon. It was agreed, in unison, that it is waxed 97.2%. Since I haven’t seen the moon since then, it should be full by tonight. I sit in a mountain of clothes, 2 cheque books, a reading package from senior year and a yellow dupatta, recovering from last nights delirium. Although my dreams are things creepy movies could be made of, delirious nightmares are another genre altogether. I dreamt of dancing with you in the bathroom of my old house. The ceramic bathroom tiles are the same shade of pink, but somehow, there are rusty iron-clad windows on the ceiling, and an entire glass wall caged in with grills. The floor has grass growing out of it, and I distinctly remember a tree or two. Surprisingly enough, I can’t recall which song was playing. Perhaps one of the oft repeated pub tunes.
I woke up the next morning, remembering a draft I had saved in my unsent messages at 7:24am. And then I remembered how I had traded the perfect life for the full moon. Just like that.