Reflective Quiet

I despise starless nights. I hate looking up at the night sky and seeing nothing but inky darkness, like I'm stuck inside a dark box without any holes poked in the top to let me breathe. Instead of the infinite black providing me with an illusion of no boundaries, I feel more entrapped by the lack of light.

Tonight, I can't even find the moon. I don't know if it's hiding behind another campus building or preparing for it's dramatic "full moon" self tomorrow night. I just know, despite the unlimited visibility I supposedly have tonight, I feel smaller than normal. It's humbling, yet I feel strangely calm, regardless of the dark. Maybe it's because I know that--no matter how much the universe tries to prove otherwise--I'm *not* on my own. I'm not insignifigant. Maybe to most of the world I am (I don't picture anyone celebrating National Hannah Day in my honor someday), but not to everyone underneath the black.

And that's good enough for me. Goodnight, Moon, wherever you are.