Dark Moons and Silver Slivers

I am particularly fond of the moon.  As it moves into the first quarter, I begin to think about what life has become.  I am needy.  I am wanting a friend.  Firstly, I do have friends.  But, I guess I want to experience something I never have before.  I am always needy and always wanting.  I want to belong.  I can't instantly chum with someone.  It is not in my dna.  I guess I'm the kind of friend who like the more contemplative conversations.  Hell, I don't mind friending the elderly man who is so kind to me each day.  Honestly, he's a good friend right now.  I feel as though people speak a language I do not.  It is alienating.  I try to reach out with things I understand.  People always end up backing away.  That is okay.  Perhaps I am a little too intense sometimes.  And I've thrown my hands in the air and let the words go.  If this is popularity, if *this* is what it takes, then I guess I'm glad I'm not.  I should simply be thankful for who I am and that I'm not pretending to be something I'm not.  I can joke and I can be a smartass.  But, I am only that with people I feel close to.  If there are doubts there, I can't get that comfortable.  A sliver of the silvery moon hangs in the sky.  It's a little slice of a hello.  Holding out my hand, I pretend I can reach the moon.  I try to hold it up.  No chance.  This act is a simple longing.  I want to know more than just the loneliness of the silvery moon.  I want to know more than it's phases that are followed by the day.  Each night I hold out hope that tomorrow will somehow be different.  No more mirrors.  No more talking to myself out here.  One person has to enter this field.  How lonely will death be?  Are we really going to visit different realities?  Are we going to enter different rooms?  Or, will we travel alone for eternity seeking each other out and never connecting?  Float, flow through space.  See the dreamy dripping colors of a star birth.  Alone.  Where wood and bone may hold you, the stars you can not grasp.  Nothing touches but the dark out here.  Dreaming toward points of light.  Alone.  It is my gravitational constant.  My single mark for which to aim.  That barriers may rip away.  Connection could be made.