By ML Noonan
When the moon spun away from Earth, we stood in the coffee shop and stared at the television. Even the espresso machine fell silent. We waited for news of impending disaster.
So far, only the nights have changed.
Night falls over us like a velvet blanket. Blackness, barely penetrated by even the brightest lights, envelops the world, rendering it small and alien.
I lie awake under dim stars and listen to the diminishing tide of my blood, sluggish without the pull of lunar gravity. I imagine floating up into that empty space, spinning away to find the moon’s familiar embrace.