Children. But.

I don't remember much of the book now. Only that she said "The moon makes children of us." That is the only line I still remember. I wonder where it is right now? Floating somewhere in the world.

Last night as I walked home from the bus stop, I realized how right she is. The moon makes children of us. It hung there like half a watermelon, glowing.

I have been wanting to write a story for a while, but.
that's the thing--but.
There's always : but.