Why did you not tell me then that you were not sure?

She remembered. As she climbed up the stairs and caught sight of a crescent moon hanging low, she remembered. How, less than a year ago, she had walked and walked along these streets at night, staring at the moon, her feet bare, her phone off, letting it guide her. She was going to tell her dad. She was going to tell her dad, and she did not know what to do. That night, she walked for two hours, talking to no one but the moon, listening to nothing but the sound of the wind moving through the desert mountains. 

She felt so scared. She felt so scared, so unsure. She looked into her future and saw nothing but fog. Where would she live? What would she do? Fog, fog, fog. And then, emerging from the fog came a familiar face, a smiling and supportive face. She looked at this face, seeing it in the sky, perched next to the moon, and she still wasn't sure. What if this was a mistake? What if this was a mistake?

For a floating face was not enough to stop the trembling in her fingers, the racing of her mind. But then she remembered the strong hands that were linked to that floating face, the steady heart that was beating 2,000 miles away, in a chest that she longed to rest her head on. And she knew. That although the future was unclear, the fog almost overwhelming, this was something that she would do. This was something that she had to do.

Not only for that face, those hands and that heart -- but for herself. She didn't know much else, but she knew that, no matter what that fog revealed in time, no matter what the future hold, she wanted to witness it while looking at that smiling face, while holding those strong hands, and while listening to that steady heart. That was what she wanted.

So she walked on home, with her back turned to the silent moon, fear and fog still causing her hands to tremble, but with the image of his beautiful face comforting her and calling her forward. She walked home, went up the stairs, and she told her dad. Because she knew what she wanted, and she knew that it was right.


(And even now, I do not regret it)