The Shashi Ring

The moon is not full most nights. Most nights it is a sliver, or half of itself, or gone entirely. We only ever photograph it whole, yet it spends most of the month working its way there and then slipping away again. Nobody calls it broken on the nights it runs thin. You are owed the same patience. The days you feel like a fraction of yourself are not a failure of the whole, only a phase inside it. To carry the full turn on your hand is to keep that close, the plain fact that fullness was always on its way back around.