Memories of the Moon

Diary Opening

We have a forest, out to the west of our house. I remember clearly, almost vividly, of all the things that happened  there. When I was young, my mother told me there were evil monsters in the forest, to keep me from wandering into it. But as the days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, I eventually outgrew them. At the age of 11, I realized that was a lie to keep me away from the strangely mystical woodland. Finally when I turned about 14, I worked up the courage to begin to explore the mysterious forest while my parents were out. I memorized the path to and from my favorite sites, such as the creek and sort of cave. The cave wasn't really a cave, though. It was just a couple boulders on top of each other with a tree on tops, creating an overhang. Nonetheless, it was still beautiful there, with the tall misty tree tops and the white flowered moss that spread like hands on stones. When "it" happened, I was 16. I'm 18 now. "It" was both the happiest and saddest event of my life. So dear diary, I am writing this to tell you my story.