A bit of writing
She never watched the sunrise, nor the sunset, finding them too trite and garishly colored. She would never wish on a star for luck, not even a shooting star. She wasn't so superstitious as that. But the moon... the moon, she watched, feeling as though she waxed and waned along with it, knowing its cycle by heart. She could perfectly visualize each dark blotch on its face when she closed her eyes. She even knew the far side of the moon like the back of her own hand, its scars and imperfections. A bit lunatic, she knew, but then who wasn't?