The moon was sliced right down the middle, so perfectly in half, and though they knew it was the sun’s harsh beams that made it appear incomplete, they took it in and said it was okay. Tomorrow night would be different. It wouldn’t always look so partial. To her, it was lonely. He could see the reflection of it in her eyes, out of the corner of his own, and he wanted to comfort her, tell her that he would always be there to draw the complete moon with his index finger. There were Christmas songs playing, the happy ones that made them think of past Christmases around fake plastic trees guarded by hastily wrapped gifts barely worth a dollar or two. They kept…