The day's end is pronounced by the
moon's awakening. It sits above us, almost unsure, as it gleams
faintly upon us, creating our shadows. I turn to you. The night has
stripped all of colour, leaving only a dim outline behind. Still, in
the calm of the darkness, you glow. You radiate beauty, your shine
similar yet seemingly more spectacular than the stars above. Even
underneath the sheet of black, you appear flawless to me.
Calm and
clear, you blur the demanding darkness and replace it with a light so
pristine that no being could deny its beauty. I wish you could see
beyond the faults you claim to hold. There are angels in your angles.
The moon is reflected in the far water, and I watch as its distorted
image glistens gently. Still, a shattered surface is all that you
have ever known to believe. The moon continues its quiet ascension
upwards and over the horizon. It slowly emerges from night's
unfolding arms, flooding the sky with its luminance. The silence
soaking the air is filled only by the rhythm of our breath.
I exhale,
and my breath raises in the cold. I watch as it dances, then fades
away into nothing. As you sit there, beneath the makeup and the
perfect placement of your ginger hair, I see you, and you are
absolutely luminous to me. You have curled yourself and caught
yourself in your own tangles that wrap around your ribcage and
restrain you from realizing what I do. You don't see what you
possess, what everybody sees. You bite at a polished nail, and I look
up to the moon. It rises, every night, to drown a dark evening in
light. The moon's beauty is skewed beyond skies and seas, almost
singing, as it shines all alone. Darkness being its only company, it
provides us with a brightness that everybody recognizes, but the moon
cannot see it.
I turn to you once more, and you give me a forced
smile. You are the moon, I want to tell you. You are the moon.