I look up at the moon. I remember the night we did it together, and you made a joke that something I said caused all the craters. As if my words are powerful enough to cause cosmic indents. You say, 'You will be a Poet Laureate.' And I say, 'Do you even know what that is? Because no, no I will not.' But you kiss me with your thin lips and mouth full of hope, but words that cut up my insides.