Does the moon dream too? (A Letter to Chang'e) by Clementine Zei (16, Massachussetts)

I have become close friends with midnight,
often holding hands with the clock as it strikes twelve,
wondering if I can push back the time far enough
so that dawn might never arrive.

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​Pierced by the blueness of my record player’s light,
who laments a round spot upon my ceiling,
I wonder if the entire world is sleeping,
and suddenly I feel small.

I’m just a young girl,
though I treat myself as if I’m decades older,
as if my skin has wilted with wisdom,
as if I know who I am.
But I am not the crescent moon.

I wonder if the moon can see me cry.
I wonder what she thinks of me
as she peers through my bedroom window,
watching me wander about my own mind
instead of dreaming.

Does the moon dream too?
And does she wish she had hands to reach out
and feel the flesh of the boy that she loves?
And does she worry that his mortality has failed him?
A human can only live so long,
but the moon has been waiting to be loved for eternity.

Oh where am I going?
Oh what am I waiting for?

Dawn is slowly creeping upon me,
and still, I’ve stayed up past the world
all for nothing except to cry to a satellite a million miles away.

And because I can no longer ask the moon, I ask the sky to let me rest.