This one last moon is almost completely centered in the middle of my ceiling. A dried up rose is pinned next to it. Where I got this rose I don't remember. Why I leave that lone moon on my ceiling I don't understand. Maybe it has become a representation of who I was, because I never noticed it until now, glowing in the dark.
The puddy like glue that I used to keep the other constellations sticking is still cemented there above me. The puddy marks are just random dots of glue, but they seem more like scars to me. It's like the false sky that I pasted up years ago was a representation of who I thought myself to be. As years passed I found out I was not any of those things and the stars and planets started to fall. Before I began my junior year in high school I had an argument with my parents in which I exploded and shouted that, “If my ten year old self could see me now, I would hate me!”. That is when I had one last moon to stare at all night. I had the one last piece of myself that I knew, and that was only the fact that I existed.
Now, I am soon to paint the whole night sky on my ceiling like Vincent Van Gogh. It could chip away, but only if you had the right tools. It will be a new representation of who I can become and part of who I am now, because I am no longer one lone moon, I am a galaxy again. I am my own night sky dripping with color and swirling with lights.
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