She’s a pale beauty.
Soft, but not fragile.
To her, crying is not a weakness.
Her tears are a form of art, a way to scream her feelings to whoever is in hearing range.
It makes her strong.
It makes her noticeable.
She knows seriousness has little place in his world, and nothing is permanent.
She keeps my sun’s feet on the ground and his head in the clouds.
I am pretty sure they were lovers in some past lives, but in this one, the moon loves the sea.
I’m glad my sun’s had her around.
She balances his demeanor.
My moon shines, but differently than my sun.
Her light is softer, kinder than his could ever be.
She also puts it to a different use.
Her light is a guide, and it doesn’t hurt like his does.
It doesn’t burn.
My moon shines so bright that the stars around her are filled with envy.
Still, all they see is her bright side.
They’re oblivious to her darkness, to her sadness, to her pain.
If it wasn’t for her crying, my moon would keep it all in, and I’m worried she will hurt herself with that knife-sharp pain sometime.
Above all, my moon is gray. Not black, not white, but gray.
She’s not complete purity or darkness, but a beautiful yin yang.
I admire her for keeping all her issues in the middle.
She tries to tend to light, but she knows she can’t be perfect.
She doesn’t need perfection.
She gives her best, and she knows it is enough.
- I orbitate her, not the other way around.