She was awkward and unsure of herself, courtesy of being ridiculed, and constantly criticized.
Who’d guess that life as a 10-year-old could be so tough?
She had learned not to speak too freely.
There were a few things she could do very well, though.
Listening and thinking. She listened to stories, animal sounds, and background noises. She thought about the things she heard, analysing, connecting.
But she was always in trouble when she shared her thoughts.
‘Did you just make that up?’
This year, as she walked past a certain spot in the woods, she saw a weird phenomenon. The narrow path was softly lighted, by the moonglow on her left side. But she could also see its twin moon on her right side.
She kept that untold, otherwise they’d call her crazy (again) until she met the wise old wizard.
The wizard laughed when she spilled her twin moons' story. She was almost disappointed at herself for sharing the story.
But then the wizard calmly mentioned the newly built house at the edge of the forest. Its tall windows on the top floor were the perfect reflector.
Twilight whispers peace into my soul: the fragrance of earth, tenderly kissed by dew, the quiet of empty streets, the soft caress of a spring breeze, the birds returning to their nests, and the sun’s final bow as it surrenders to the moon. How these two celestial entities share the sky is a silent wonder... The moon, ever-present, claims the night as her own, and the sun, understanding this sacred truth, dips below the horizon, still casting its light upon its beloved companion.
And ultimately, when we pause—when we truly open our hearts to listen—nature leaves its mark. It teaches us that solitude is a fleeting dream, a mirage we chase in vain. To live apart, in isolation, is to forget the delicate interdependence of all things. In the same way that the sun never dims the moon's brightness, honoring each soul means letting ours shine. If the sun can bow to the moon’s beauty without stealing its light, why do we, as humans, seek to eclipse one another? Within us all is the power to shine—and the grace to help others find their radiance, too.
Mine's closer to 650 words.. Again, I couldn't have helped it. I still have to edit it before posting it officially.
MOONSPELL
Herchel remained affixed to the little statue no bigger than the bottle of sleeping pills that lay on the other side of the table. The creature depicted within the strange alloy stumped his imagination, but the likeness of totems and homunculi with the head of a horse skull adorned in a shroud of rococo had come to mind. He had found it among a series of artifacts brought back from an excavation site somewhere along the border of Cameroon, but there was nothing distinctly African about it. It glowed when placed under a window sill in the direct path of moonlight, as if covered with a bioluminescent film that gave it a ghostly nimbus. No other light yielded those results, which made him scratch his head.
Upon careful examination, he concluded the material couldn’t have cast it aflame as so. In fact, he was unable to identify its composition. The biggest surprise, however, came when he exposed the relic under the same conditions for several minutes. A string of inscriptions magically appeared on its crown just beneath the cowl of its shawl. It was indecipherable, but as soon as Hershel swept his eyes across the alien alphabet, a wave of pressure struck his brain. Within seconds, he knew exactly what it said, and recited each word.
Ineik, I summon thee, from the depths of time and reaches of space, show thyself and manifest, thy true form to be revealed!
The ethereal moonglow suddenly flared like an angry sun, illuminating every book, relic, and furnishing within the study. Hershel covered his eyes and jerked away, pulling a muscle in his oblique. The pressure that stabbed at his brain afflicted his whole body. Someone yanked at his ligaments in all directions, as if being quartered by four horsemen. He expected one of his joints to give way, smearing its fibrous tatters to the far corners of the room. The agony swelled to his face, to tear off his flesh and reveal the grinning skull within.
He screamed, but everyone in the building had long gone home.
Something pricked at his integument, and he rubbed his hands all over his writhing form. He was soft to the touch. Fur! That was impossible. He covered his face, but his hands cupped around a muzzle that wasn’t there before. Shifting up to his pate, he grabbed two flaps of shaggy protrusions. Ears? Holding his hands out, he watched his fingers gnarl and thicken. Paw pads sprouted and claws jutted from the matte of hair.
The second scream came as a thunderous roar.
Hershel scrambled to the mirror. Facing his reflection, his jaw dropped to the floor. What was he? He didn’t even stand like man; he lay on all fours!
A raspy whisper shot through the night. With trembling hesitance, Hershel turned his massive head, rippling the folds on his nape. At the edge of his desk, the glimmering statue stood with its arms folded and tapping its foot. Its features resembled what Hershel had become, but wearing an ensemble of decorations he thought would never have come to life. Frightened, he backed into a corner, knocking over boxes of artifacts and a bag of excavation tools. The statue slapped its head.
“Pathetic!” it chided in its native language. “You’re falling apart. Now, pull yourself together. We’re leaving this joint!” The statue gesticulated, swinging its hand and jerking its thumb toward the moon.
Hershel crept closer, each step adding another layer of terror that culminated in his stumbling.
“You’re an overgrown coward. Come on!” The statue swept a paw across the silvery mist of moonlight. The window jittered, turned to liquid, and parted into a roiling annulus. Within, a new world beckoned. It was daylight.
Eyeing Hershell, the statue swung its arm once again, and jumped through the portal. Hershell slowly lumbered over and peeked through the aperture. A tiny paw reached out, grabbed the folds on his neck, and yanked him through.
At seventeen I was ready for love. I didn't know anything about love but the opportunity came to me . I would like to say we lived happily ever after, but this story is not going there . This is heartbreak and tears and loneliness of losing him. He was my first love and my first kiss. There is not much more to say about the love, since it didn't last but the first kiss was cinematic !
Picture a warm Georgia night in Spring, warm but not hot .
Several night creatures were already calling .
The moon is out and casts a warm glow on the dark earth.
He helps me out of the car and walks me halfway across the yard where he suddenly puts his arms around me and gives me a passionate, desperate kiss.
If I was the swooning type I would have swooned. If I had known that also in that kiss was goodbye, it would have broken me. As it was, I mourned for him for a good while. I wanted the love I had never known.
It happened the first time by chance, now it’s a plan.
When the moon is full, they meet in the old barn at the edge of her family’s farm. He comes through a gap in the hedgerow, then the path between blackberry bushes.
She will be in the barn before he gets there, amidst the sweet smell of honeysuckle and fresh-cut hay on summer nights, log fires in autumn and winter, and freshly turned soil in spring.
Regardless of the temperature, she always wears only a clean sleeping gown, unbuttoned at the collar, nothing on beneath it. She stands where the moonglow shines through the thin fabric from behind her and silhouettes the body she is otherwise too shy to reveal.
As soon as he arrives, he takes her in his arms. He’s already hard in his trousers when he pulls her close to kiss her and caress her breasts through the gown, always keeping the fabric between her skin and his until she lifts the hem and reaches for his pants, unzips him, frees him, and has him lay down on top of her, and penetrate her. Fucks her. In the soft moonglow.
The moonglow lit the forest in a soft light as Caroline stood alone, her pale skin nearly glowing.
She heard him before she saw him—footsteps in the leaves, a heartbeat strong and steady. Then he stepped into the clearing: Jackson, a wolf-shifter.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Her heart ached at the sight of him.
“I couldn’t stay away,” he replied, his voice low and warm.
They were never supposed to meet like this. Vampires and shifters had been enemies for centuries. But something between them—something deeper than bloodlines and rules—kept pulling them together.
“I dream about you,” he said, stepping closer. “A life where we don’t have to hide away.”
Caroline nodded, swallowing the ache in her throat. “In another life, maybe we wouldn’t be wrong.”
He took her hand, rough and warm against her cold fingers. “Maybe we’d be happy.”
They stood there, close but not close enough, knowing what they had could never last. The moon began to dip, the night fading. She would need to disappear before the sun rose. He would return to his pack, a world that didn’t accept her.
They kissed once—soft, sad, and full of everything they couldn’t say.
Abby listened to the night sounds that surrounded her as she leaned against the railing of the deck. This time, just after the sun disappeared below the surface and stars began to appear in the darkened sky, was her favorite.
Peeps from small tree frogs seemed to sound in chorus with the flashes from fireflies as they flitted to and fro. A larger glow blended in and moved closer, along with the purr of an engine.
Still she maintained her position, enjoying the cool night air and the soothing scent and sounds of the night. So peaceful.
The sound of the sliding glass door and footsteps brought a smile to her lips. Warm arms slid around her waist and turned her around.
"Dance with me beautiful," Bradley said, as the first notes of the familiar song began to play. They swayed together as their lips met.
Under the moonglow, the lake looked like liquid mercury, silent, reflecting the night sky. Clara stepped into the water. Her nightgown stuck to her skin, heavy and cold. The lake murmured the same secrets her mother had hummed years ago, lullabies lost to time. Every full moon, Clara walked the shore where her mother’s ashes had been tossed, where memories soaked into the ground.
She dragged her fingers across the water, shattering her reflection into jagged pieces. “Look up,” her mother used to tell her. “The moon connects us to the stars.” But Clara only felt the chill where her mother’s warmth used to live.
She let a paper boat drift from her hand. The word “Sorry” sat inside it. The water pulled the boat toward the centre of the lake, where moonglow thickened into a glowing tower of light. Clara wondered if that brightness could burn away regret, if forgiveness hid in the blue-black shadows rippling around her.
As dawn crept closer, the moon faded. Clara stayed. The boat disappeared, swallowed by the lake’s shimmer. Above her, the moon dulled.
She left footprints in the mud behind her. Water seeped into each one, each becoming its own small universe.
Luna hated her name. It didn't help that her fair skin made her look ethereal and glowy like the moon. Kids poked fun at her, calling her "Moonface" and "Moon Pie." To escape the teasing, Luna buried herself in her sketchbook, creating nature images, always including a face. Tree bark smiled. Rock formations held stern countenance. River waters laughed between cranky banks.
Sketchbook in hand, Luna meandered to a small trail that took her to a hidden spot near the river. Settling in to draw, she was surprised by voices--including her mother's. Luna peeked from her hiding place for a glimpse of the other person. He was handsome and he radiated a pearlescent glow. He and her mother whispered. Luna slipped back into her space, endeavoring to capture the essence of the man.
Darkness fell, and Luna walked home. On the front porch sat the man, who reached out a hand to her. "Come, dear one," he murmured. "Come find your home in the stars with me. Your mother has gone on ahead." Luna put her hand in his and together they followed the moonglow path, where the man in the moon took his place, with Luna by his side.
She found the framed photograph in his cufflink box.
"Who is that, Dad?"
"It's Grandma," he said. "When she was young."
"That's not Grandma!" The same quizzical look she had given when he told her the tooth fairy had left her a nickel.
Caroline's portrait had traveled with him to the South Pacific. He could still remember how nervous he was, asking her to dance at the annual Spring Fling. If he hadn't been in uniform, he thought, she might have turned him down. As beautiful as Rita Hayworth with her strawberry blonde hair, and she moved with an easy grace that reminded him of his screen idol.
The past came back in a dizzying rush. Her golden head, crowned with a pink rose, rested on his shoulder as they twirled slowly across the ballroom floor. The band was playing "Moonglow" by her favorite artist, Benny Goodman. It became their song.
They didn't have much time together. He got the Dear John letter when he was stationed in Okinawa.
Let the kid think that her mother was the love of his life, if that was what she believed.
"It's just someone I used to know," he said. "Good night, honey."
PROMPT: MOONGLOW
THE FULL MOON
It was a full moon.
Staring straight back at him, in all its perfectly round glory.
He was in awe, and completely transfixed.
Until his wife firmly slapped him, and told him this was the last time she was letting him take them on a walk near a nudist beach… 🌕😎🌕
Microfiction - 200mg of Moonglow
===
She was always the weird one.
Sometimes she was the not-so-smart one.
She was awkward and unsure of herself, courtesy of being ridiculed, and constantly criticized.
Who’d guess that life as a 10-year-old could be so tough?
She had learned not to speak too freely.
There were a few things she could do very well, though.
Listening and thinking. She listened to stories, animal sounds, and background noises. She thought about the things she heard, analysing, connecting.
But she was always in trouble when she shared her thoughts.
‘Did you just make that up?’
This year, as she walked past a certain spot in the woods, she saw a weird phenomenon. The narrow path was softly lighted, by the moonglow on her left side. But she could also see its twin moon on her right side.
She kept that untold, otherwise they’d call her crazy (again) until she met the wise old wizard.
The wizard laughed when she spilled her twin moons' story. She was almost disappointed at herself for sharing the story.
But then the wizard calmly mentioned the newly built house at the edge of the forest. Its tall windows on the top floor were the perfect reflector.
𝕄𝕠𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕠𝕨 - 𝕄𝕚𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕕𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘
Twilight whispers peace into my soul: the fragrance of earth, tenderly kissed by dew, the quiet of empty streets, the soft caress of a spring breeze, the birds returning to their nests, and the sun’s final bow as it surrenders to the moon. How these two celestial entities share the sky is a silent wonder... The moon, ever-present, claims the night as her own, and the sun, understanding this sacred truth, dips below the horizon, still casting its light upon its beloved companion.
And ultimately, when we pause—when we truly open our hearts to listen—nature leaves its mark. It teaches us that solitude is a fleeting dream, a mirage we chase in vain. To live apart, in isolation, is to forget the delicate interdependence of all things. In the same way that the sun never dims the moon's brightness, honoring each soul means letting ours shine. If the sun can bow to the moon’s beauty without stealing its light, why do we, as humans, seek to eclipse one another? Within us all is the power to shine—and the grace to help others find their radiance, too.
I appreciate the restack! Thank you, it means a lot ☺️
I absolutely loved the piece Sofia. Thanks for writing with us! I enjoy the poetic use of words so much!
Mine's closer to 650 words.. Again, I couldn't have helped it. I still have to edit it before posting it officially.
MOONSPELL
Herchel remained affixed to the little statue no bigger than the bottle of sleeping pills that lay on the other side of the table. The creature depicted within the strange alloy stumped his imagination, but the likeness of totems and homunculi with the head of a horse skull adorned in a shroud of rococo had come to mind. He had found it among a series of artifacts brought back from an excavation site somewhere along the border of Cameroon, but there was nothing distinctly African about it. It glowed when placed under a window sill in the direct path of moonlight, as if covered with a bioluminescent film that gave it a ghostly nimbus. No other light yielded those results, which made him scratch his head.
Upon careful examination, he concluded the material couldn’t have cast it aflame as so. In fact, he was unable to identify its composition. The biggest surprise, however, came when he exposed the relic under the same conditions for several minutes. A string of inscriptions magically appeared on its crown just beneath the cowl of its shawl. It was indecipherable, but as soon as Hershel swept his eyes across the alien alphabet, a wave of pressure struck his brain. Within seconds, he knew exactly what it said, and recited each word.
Ineik, I summon thee, from the depths of time and reaches of space, show thyself and manifest, thy true form to be revealed!
The ethereal moonglow suddenly flared like an angry sun, illuminating every book, relic, and furnishing within the study. Hershel covered his eyes and jerked away, pulling a muscle in his oblique. The pressure that stabbed at his brain afflicted his whole body. Someone yanked at his ligaments in all directions, as if being quartered by four horsemen. He expected one of his joints to give way, smearing its fibrous tatters to the far corners of the room. The agony swelled to his face, to tear off his flesh and reveal the grinning skull within.
He screamed, but everyone in the building had long gone home.
Something pricked at his integument, and he rubbed his hands all over his writhing form. He was soft to the touch. Fur! That was impossible. He covered his face, but his hands cupped around a muzzle that wasn’t there before. Shifting up to his pate, he grabbed two flaps of shaggy protrusions. Ears? Holding his hands out, he watched his fingers gnarl and thicken. Paw pads sprouted and claws jutted from the matte of hair.
The second scream came as a thunderous roar.
Hershel scrambled to the mirror. Facing his reflection, his jaw dropped to the floor. What was he? He didn’t even stand like man; he lay on all fours!
A raspy whisper shot through the night. With trembling hesitance, Hershel turned his massive head, rippling the folds on his nape. At the edge of his desk, the glimmering statue stood with its arms folded and tapping its foot. Its features resembled what Hershel had become, but wearing an ensemble of decorations he thought would never have come to life. Frightened, he backed into a corner, knocking over boxes of artifacts and a bag of excavation tools. The statue slapped its head.
“Pathetic!” it chided in its native language. “You’re falling apart. Now, pull yourself together. We’re leaving this joint!” The statue gesticulated, swinging its hand and jerking its thumb toward the moon.
Hershel crept closer, each step adding another layer of terror that culminated in his stumbling.
“You’re an overgrown coward. Come on!” The statue swept a paw across the silvery mist of moonlight. The window jittered, turned to liquid, and parted into a roiling annulus. Within, a new world beckoned. It was daylight.
Eyeing Hershell, the statue swung its arm once again, and jumped through the portal. Hershell slowly lumbered over and peeked through the aperture. A tiny paw reached out, grabbed the folds on his neck, and yanked him through.
No worries! It’s good you got this inspired 😁
At seventeen I was ready for love. I didn't know anything about love but the opportunity came to me . I would like to say we lived happily ever after, but this story is not going there . This is heartbreak and tears and loneliness of losing him. He was my first love and my first kiss. There is not much more to say about the love, since it didn't last but the first kiss was cinematic !
Picture a warm Georgia night in Spring, warm but not hot .
Several night creatures were already calling .
The moon is out and casts a warm glow on the dark earth.
He helps me out of the car and walks me halfway across the yard where he suddenly puts his arms around me and gives me a passionate, desperate kiss.
If I was the swooning type I would have swooned. If I had known that also in that kiss was goodbye, it would have broken me. As it was, I mourned for him for a good while. I wanted the love I had never known.
I got it ,years later, but not from him.
For me ,he will always be the one that got away .
Thank you ,Miguel!
Thank you , Stephanie !
Thank you , Jeannine!
The glade, the fireflies, the woman in moonglow are so vivid and melancholic.
Thanks Jim 😁
Moonglow (erotica) NSFW
The moon is their silent signal.
It happened the first time by chance, now it’s a plan.
When the moon is full, they meet in the old barn at the edge of her family’s farm. He comes through a gap in the hedgerow, then the path between blackberry bushes.
She will be in the barn before he gets there, amidst the sweet smell of honeysuckle and fresh-cut hay on summer nights, log fires in autumn and winter, and freshly turned soil in spring.
Regardless of the temperature, she always wears only a clean sleeping gown, unbuttoned at the collar, nothing on beneath it. She stands where the moonglow shines through the thin fabric from behind her and silhouettes the body she is otherwise too shy to reveal.
As soon as he arrives, he takes her in his arms. He’s already hard in his trousers when he pulls her close to kiss her and caress her breasts through the gown, always keeping the fabric between her skin and his until she lifts the hem and reaches for his pants, unzips him, frees him, and has him lay down on top of her, and penetrate her. Fucks her. In the soft moonglow.
https://substack.com/@emastonig
The moonglow lit the forest in a soft light as Caroline stood alone, her pale skin nearly glowing.
She heard him before she saw him—footsteps in the leaves, a heartbeat strong and steady. Then he stepped into the clearing: Jackson, a wolf-shifter.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Her heart ached at the sight of him.
“I couldn’t stay away,” he replied, his voice low and warm.
They were never supposed to meet like this. Vampires and shifters had been enemies for centuries. But something between them—something deeper than bloodlines and rules—kept pulling them together.
“I dream about you,” he said, stepping closer. “A life where we don’t have to hide away.”
Caroline nodded, swallowing the ache in her throat. “In another life, maybe we wouldn’t be wrong.”
He took her hand, rough and warm against her cold fingers. “Maybe we’d be happy.”
They stood there, close but not close enough, knowing what they had could never last. The moon began to dip, the night fading. She would need to disappear before the sun rose. He would return to his pack, a world that didn’t accept her.
They kissed once—soft, sad, and full of everything they couldn’t say.
Then they let go.
Abby listened to the night sounds that surrounded her as she leaned against the railing of the deck. This time, just after the sun disappeared below the surface and stars began to appear in the darkened sky, was her favorite.
Peeps from small tree frogs seemed to sound in chorus with the flashes from fireflies as they flitted to and fro. A larger glow blended in and moved closer, along with the purr of an engine.
Still she maintained her position, enjoying the cool night air and the soothing scent and sounds of the night. So peaceful.
The sound of the sliding glass door and footsteps brought a smile to her lips. Warm arms slid around her waist and turned her around.
"Dance with me beautiful," Bradley said, as the first notes of the familiar song began to play. They swayed together as their lips met.
'It must have been moonglow
Way up in the blue
It must have been moonglow
That led me straight to you.'
Under the moonglow, the lake looked like liquid mercury, silent, reflecting the night sky. Clara stepped into the water. Her nightgown stuck to her skin, heavy and cold. The lake murmured the same secrets her mother had hummed years ago, lullabies lost to time. Every full moon, Clara walked the shore where her mother’s ashes had been tossed, where memories soaked into the ground.
She dragged her fingers across the water, shattering her reflection into jagged pieces. “Look up,” her mother used to tell her. “The moon connects us to the stars.” But Clara only felt the chill where her mother’s warmth used to live.
She let a paper boat drift from her hand. The word “Sorry” sat inside it. The water pulled the boat toward the centre of the lake, where moonglow thickened into a glowing tower of light. Clara wondered if that brightness could burn away regret, if forgiveness hid in the blue-black shadows rippling around her.
As dawn crept closer, the moon faded. Clara stayed. The boat disappeared, swallowed by the lake’s shimmer. Above her, the moon dulled.
She left footprints in the mud behind her. Water seeped into each one, each becoming its own small universe.
Cheating. But it's best not to play Monopoly with me as Banker either.
REFLECTED
by Matthew Sutcliffe
.
He peered at the clock
though he knew the time
was after sunset
he’d heard six o’clock chime
.
Pulling his cloak tighter
Against the icy night air
Stepped onto the parapet and glanced up
at the moon, which was just hanging there
.
He felt kinda funny, perhaps it was age
Or maybe it was an outcome of being long dead
A growing sense of doom and aches and pains
took over his mind and filled him with dread
.
Never in his life, nor in his death
had he ever felt so disconnected
as he fell into the void and collapsed in a dust heap
Moon’s light, you see, is Sunlight, reflected.
May 1 Moonglow 200
Luna hated her name. It didn't help that her fair skin made her look ethereal and glowy like the moon. Kids poked fun at her, calling her "Moonface" and "Moon Pie." To escape the teasing, Luna buried herself in her sketchbook, creating nature images, always including a face. Tree bark smiled. Rock formations held stern countenance. River waters laughed between cranky banks.
Sketchbook in hand, Luna meandered to a small trail that took her to a hidden spot near the river. Settling in to draw, she was surprised by voices--including her mother's. Luna peeked from her hiding place for a glimpse of the other person. He was handsome and he radiated a pearlescent glow. He and her mother whispered. Luna slipped back into her space, endeavoring to capture the essence of the man.
Darkness fell, and Luna walked home. On the front porch sat the man, who reached out a hand to her. "Come, dear one," he murmured. "Come find your home in the stars with me. Your mother has gone on ahead." Luna put her hand in his and together they followed the moonglow path, where the man in the moon took his place, with Luna by his side.
Not a story, but a thread of words.
There’s a light
in the sky,
a glow so bright,
a glittering globe,
a strobe that sails,
not turns, and pales
when dawn breaks,
grey as ash flakes,
sinking into the west,
the bird to her nest.
They call it moon,
this bone-pale, hewn
chalk or cheese,
where rocket birds freeze
in the dark of space,
a frowning face
that never changes
or rearranges.
A goddess beams,
sheds silver streams
to light the way,
through shadows grey,
for homeward fox,
when equinox
balances night and day.
I hear music play,
when night spheres dance,
the world entrance,
and moonlight strays
on grassy braes,
when I sit and wait,
though the hour is late,
though the night is long,
for the night bird’s song.
Miguel, now that you've taught us to be concise, you're letting us expand a little 😃
I might’ve needed some extra room myself 😁
You really paint quite a picture here with beautiful words. And some dreams are just out of our reach. Great post, Miguel.
Thanks Parker!
MOONGLOW (200)
She found the framed photograph in his cufflink box.
"Who is that, Dad?"
"It's Grandma," he said. "When she was young."
"That's not Grandma!" The same quizzical look she had given when he told her the tooth fairy had left her a nickel.
Caroline's portrait had traveled with him to the South Pacific. He could still remember how nervous he was, asking her to dance at the annual Spring Fling. If he hadn't been in uniform, he thought, she might have turned him down. As beautiful as Rita Hayworth with her strawberry blonde hair, and she moved with an easy grace that reminded him of his screen idol.
The past came back in a dizzying rush. Her golden head, crowned with a pink rose, rested on his shoulder as they twirled slowly across the ballroom floor. The band was playing "Moonglow" by her favorite artist, Benny Goodman. It became their song.
They didn't have much time together. He got the Dear John letter when he was stationed in Okinawa.
Let the kid think that her mother was the love of his life, if that was what she believed.
"It's just someone I used to know," he said. "Good night, honey."
I suppose the phrase about someone I used to know has been uttered many times. Very cool story, Lia.