I grew weary of talking to the moon, because she couldn’t stop bragging about you. It was as if she wanted me to hear how she got to touch your skin and your lips and watch you sing and dance to her light.
Thinking back, she never really liked seeing us quietly reading our story beneath the tree by the creek. As far as she was concerned, you belonged to her.
I used to look at her and thank the stars to have you looking at the same sky ~
Now I’m not so sure.
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