Moon Between Us

It’s midnight again.

The kind of midnight that’s not just dark—but quiet in a way that presses against your chest. The kind where thoughts echo louder than any sound, and memories feel like they’re sitting beside you, whispering everything you’re trying not to think about.

I miss her.

She’s there. I’m here. Alone, both of us. Apart by choice… and by dreams.

She’s probably curled up on her side of the bed we picked out together, clutching that pillow like it’s me. Or maybe she’s lying awake, like I am, staring at the ceiling, listening to the same kind of silence.

Maybe she’s looking at the moon too.

God, I hope she is.

That’s become our quiet meeting place. The moon. It's the only thing that stays constant between us. No matter how far I travel, no matter how long I stay away, we both can look up and know the other might be looking, too.

It comforts me. Hurts me too. Because I’d give anything to be there with her.

But my goals—our goals—won’t allow it. Not yet.

She always understood. That’s what made me fall in love with her in the first place. She never clipped my wings, never asked me to stay when I had dreams that stretched beyond the horizon. She just smiled that quiet, powerful smile and said:

"Go chase it. I’ll be right here when you get back."

And she meant it.

Now, every day I wake up and push harder—toward that future I promised her. That life we dreamed of late at night, talking about where we’d live, how we’d build something of our own. I’m working every hour life gives me. Sacrificing comfort. Time. Even her.

And still, there’s this aching space inside me where she should be.

There’s something cruel about love like this. The kind that pulls you in two directions. You want to hold her, feel her laugh against your chest, get lost in her eyes—but you also want to give her the world. Not just words. Reality. A life she never has to worry in. A home that feels safe and full.

And to give her that, I have to be here.

Alone.

The moon looks especially clear tonight. No clouds. No distractions. Just that pale, glowing witness to all the things I can’t say aloud.

I wonder what she’s thinking right now.

Does she miss me like I miss her? Does she ever doubt this space between us? Does she cry quietly, like I sometimes do, when the weight of being apart presses too hard?

I hope she knows this silence isn’t distance. It’s devotion.

Because every night I lie awake, not beside her but because of her. Every hour I work, every sacrifice I make, is for her. For us. For that day I come home and never have to leave again.

We didn’t choose this part of the journey because it was easy. We chose it because we believed it was worth it.

Still, missing her is a wound that doesn’t heal—just softens for a while before opening again in the quiet of the night.

And tonight, it’s wide open.

So, I look up.

And there it is.

The moon.

Silent. Still. Unchanging.

The same moon she sees. The same moon I whisper to. The same moon that carries my love across the sky like a message in a bottle across the sea.

“I miss you,” I whisper. “You’re my whole world.”

And though I can’t hear her, I imagine her whispering it too.

Someday, all this distance will make sense. Someday, we’ll sit side by side under this same moon, not needing to gaze from afar.

But tonight?

We’re just two souls in two cities, staring at the sky, loving each other silently under the same silver light.