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The Moon

R. J. Frogvarian

The moon was fancy data. A distant page to observe, study, learn from. Countless hours we have spent gazing upwards, watching this silver disk. Its patterns, phases. The secrets whispered by its light. There were great many things to learn. We now know them all.

The moon is a curious public. As we have peered into it, so it peers into us. A well of light, so baffled by its observers. Now the light comes down, many rays as many peoples, yearning to know more. Beckoning us to come up and join them, each night, softly asking their many questions.

The moon will be a logical rope. The only thing left for us to do. The only outcome we can end on. Questions, answered. Agreements, made. We will know each other, us and the moon, and we will climb upon its rays, up, up, to join it among the stars, and to be propelled further yet. Through the moon, up high, we will become something more.

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