The Moon

My Dear

There she was, in the distant sky, still as beautiful as ever, no matter what phase it reflected. The moon always went through many changes, yet it was still my moon. You can name all the phases that it may appear as, blue, eclipsed, super, and many more. I still love her in all the different shapes and colors beamed down on Earth.

Haiku
Beautiful, she is
Brighter than the glowing stars
She's my vivid moon

In my darkest times, in the darkest nights, there she is. I was never truly alone with her there, glowing in the sky, saying to myself, "The moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

The chilly nights felt warm. The moon is inspiring, and there were many times when passion ignited in me when watching the moon. Many more times when I felt a melody play within me. A song that would sing itself with no way out. A perfect harmony to the peaceful tune on quiet nights.

She was always glowing, only resting on new moons before once again blinding the world with its soft glow. She beckons me, lures me, she's alluring, and she coaxes me into sleepless nights.

My lullabies, I sing to her, never expecting a reply. As much as I love her, I hate her at the same time.

She has no features I can describe to be something I grew to love. The moon was simply already beautiful. She didn't have stunning eyes I'd love to stare into all day if I could, or luscious locks I'd love to run my hands through. There wasn't anything tangible for me to want to hold in my arms or feel the comfort of warmth.

My hatred only came from my longing. The longing to love someone as deeply as the moon.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖