Essi called me family and I walked away. After everything she’s been through, I walked away. What the fuck is wrong with me? How can I look at that moon with so much love in my heart—love that ricochets off my ribs every time I look at Essi? Stupid question. I know exactly what’s wrong with me. Loving that moon feels safe. Moonfalls are so rare it’ll likely always be there, accepting my quiet adoration. Loving Essi . . . it makes me feel like I’m handling something fragile that’ll break apart in my hands if I tighten my grip even the slightest bit.
