Half Moon

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It's a half-moon tonight and it's shinin' half-bright as if the sky could understand the way I feel inside—Half of me is living half a world from here, half of me is dyin', cryin' one lonely tear silently in the half-moon light Sparrow. Nothing will be completely right until you're with me.

—Willow Aster, True Love Story

JACOB: Stefi and Ceci are not here right now. Alondra has brought into our home a man who is not Estéfano. One thing's for sure—if he were a tree, he would be a very exotic type of wood. He seems from a distant land, I'd never seen a man with such dark hair; and unlike Estéfano, he has a mustache and beard and skin like pale coffee. He must be her burned coffee. He is a doctor, or so I heard. I don't want to look. How I wish Estéfano were here to kiss his girl and not this brazen stranger.

ALONDRA: Yahir's half-moon ears remind me of Estéfano's ears and how I used to tease him, and when I nibbled his ears, I'd tell him they were as big as a corn tortilla. How he loved tortillas, de harina, o maiz; how there were craters in the corn tortilla like our little moon cooking on the stove, and then he'd chew them down, about seven or ten moons. Estéfano loved eating these, even with his paella a la Valenciana.

As Yahir slipped a white rose behind my ear, I tried to smile, yet I really felt awful it wasn't Estéfano who was doing this. I was on the brink of tears when Yahir realized what I was feeling; so he removed the rose from my hair, "I'm sorry. You're thinking of him, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry too, Yahir. And yes, I am! I still love Estéfano!"

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