When the Moon Was Ours

by Anna-Marie McLemore

To the boys who get called girls, the girls who get called boys, and those who live outside these words. To those called names, and those searching for names of their own. To those who live on the edges, and in the spaces in between. I wish for you every light in the sky.

It had been about so many secrets Aracely kept unspoken that Sam wondered if she would burst into a hundred thousand butterflies.

She was the wild blossoms and dark sugar that spoke of what the world could be. She was the pale stars on her brown skin. She was the whole sky.