a prose
Millions of poems that tell the love story of the moon and the sun born everyday.
From the lonely thinkers to the lorn hearts.
From the prince, princess, and the paupers.
From the dreamers and the realists.
They portray the moon as the possessor of the night and with her,
they keep their secrets of life.
Those poems always reminded me of us.
The melancholy, the glum, the beauty, and the bliss,
intrigued me to love you more and more.
The moon is the symbol of a true-blue lover,
even the man's eyes can't beat the faithfulness of her.
To be honest, i fell in love with how they look at each other.
The way she heeds the king, the way he loves his queen.
The way he admires her light..
only hers..
and make her his place to glow.
The way she waits for him..
only him..
and choose him to be with her,
even though there are billions of stars, sparkling around her.
I am jealous with them.
Is it because i had felt something like that?
Then,
suddenly,
the whole world conspires,
and I almost lose the person who always admired me, looked at me, accepted me the way i am.
Unfortunately, i can't even be the only moon in your eyes..
how jealousy can become very blinding.
YOU ARE READING
The Art of Us
Random❝ This is how i make the bitter look exhilarating. ❞ ❨#2 in Poetic Justice, March 2019❩ (#3 in The Cold, May 2020) (#1 in The Cold, June 2020)
