She looks at me, concerned. I tell her the look on my face is nothing but a memory. It is a memory of the sky. It used to be blue, enveloping, comforting, and nostalgic for experiences yet to come. But the sky is pulled to the west by the moon. In that moonlight it all comes back. The fear, the hard slaps to the face, the tears, the helplessness, the wheels moving too fast, the cries for help, the badges shown, the corners I’ve hid in and all the times I needed arms to hold me. Yes, it all comes back in the moonlight and stars that are mysterious and unkind. But as I shed a tear, her hand in mine, I look into her eyes. They too are blue, enveloping, comforting, and nostalgic for things to come. Her eyes are the sky when I was small, when I only feared the stars.