What do you do when someone hands you the moon, and you don't quite know what to with it? I watched as you lassoed it from the sky and pushed it, shining, into my ivory arms. I didn't have the storage for it so I chained it to my back and it followed me around like some grotesque balloon. The teller at the bank asked if it was following me and I said it was quite the opposite actually. In the winter my moon shone brightest and made walking through the snow almost easy. The villagers soon dubbed it "Abby's moon balloon", it seemed to like the name. A little boy once asked if I had ever seen the dark side of the moon, I told him the moon gets quite offended when asked to bare its dark side. I tried growing roses on it to make it more presentable for the coming spring, but each seed seemed to be to comfy nestled in the moons warm embrace to want to sprout. When the summer came i tried to take it to the beach, but it got a bit too excited and almost caused a tsunami. I'm not sure the fishes were pleased. As I grew up the moon did too and soon we were growing into each other, becoming entangled in each other's shine. Soon it was only nine chains to the moon, and twenty four back to earth, the clouds used to laugh at us dancing together. My sister told me that the moon was as much apart of me as I was of it. I didn't like being apart of something so much bigger than my self.