Emily Lautch has always been enigmatic to me. When I first met her, in my freshman spring semester at Emerson College, I was sure she was an older student because of the way she carried herself. I was in awe of just how together her life seemed. When asked to create a “Me Project,” a performance with no words that still told the class who we were, Emily shared a poem, a bulleted list she had accumulated over 100 days, based on a Nick Sturm poem, that described perfectly who she was. That list only left me more intrigued. In our academic classes, Emily would speak her mind with such eloquence and confidence that made me sure I was in the wrong class. However, in our acting classes, Emily would bare all and express her mess for all to see with an ease. While I envied these qualities, I also realized then just how similar we both were - how the lives we show the world and our realities are completely contrasting. I will never forget the crying speech she once gave to our acting class about how much “she just fucking missed the mountains.” It was sans eloquence and it was still somehow perfection. She was thrilling to watch or listen to. While we spent almost every day together in class that last semester of freshman year, our friendship did not flourish until after we parted ways and were left with sporadic meetings and long text messages to each other about love, art, and our shared struggles with depression and anxiety. Now that Emily is living life post-college and back in nature, she has a new relationship to poetry and acting and new epiphanies about what travel has meant to her. She may be as far away from the moon as ever before, but she continues to feel its presence as if it were seated next to her. And I realize that just like the cosmos and the galaxies, the more I know about Emily, the more there is to discover.