The sun and the moon

To my sun – though your shadows showed me pain, their absence showed me my light, and for that, I am grateful.

You were the sun, and I was the moon.

I looked for you but rarely were you there. Once in a while, we crossed paths even though we shared the same sky. It was like you were haunting me. Sometimes allowing me to feel your presence then dissipating before my eyes when things scared or overwhelmed you. You had so much hardness inside that I get why you felt the need to do so but that doesn't excuse it. You tried to make things easier on yourself when things got hard. So, you went away. Back to your own place among the stars.

Where my light couldn’t reach.

It became abundantly clear; you cannot shine your light on someone whose decided they belong to their shadows. And so, I realized, you were pretending to enjoy my light a while longer until, you were sure. And then you were. And the ghost of you moved on, into the light. But not mine, your own.

The end.

No doubt an ending under any circumstance would've been horrible. But to know you pretended, for anytime at all. Breaks me like the crashing waves break a ship attempting to conquer the sea during a storm. It’s cold, harsh, painful, and every breath feels like it should be your last. I’m sure you’d call me dramatic. Though how could you understand. You weren't the discarded one. Left to wander the nights alone. Not to say you didn’t feel pain. I like to think you did. That our life together fading away into the dark abyss of the past, brought a stinging pain, a twinge of sadness. Maybe that’s too much to hope for, maybe I shouldn’t be hoping for it at all, after what you put me through and I you. Were both better off without. After all, when were together there’s a darkness, an eclipse. Though a small part of me still calls to you. Hopes for you. My soul attempts to reach you but it’s as if you’re a tiny little cottage on a cliff of an island, in the middle of the ocean. And its storming, it’s storming hard, but despite the realization that the trek to you could kill me, I want it. I savor the notion that there's a chance I could make it even though I probably won't. But that’s what’ll kill me, not the journey but the hope. It’s a murderer of the first degree. It wrings my soul in it’s rough and icy claws. Tearing at me with its talons that bring a painful flash of the good, making me forget the bad. Like a candy that saves with its flavors of sweetness after your tastebuds are drowned with sour. But eventually the sweetness isn't enough. The sour overpowers. And taints the sensation. The hope of your presence being present in my future no longer brings me a flash of sweet but drowns me in sour. Sour emotions, because I know now you didn’t view me as a light ruining your reign in your shadows. But as the shadows causing your gloom. You only saw the shadows of my moon, eclipsing your sun. Failing to realize that moons produce light too, just as suns produce shadow. Though I now realize I shouldn’t be looking for a sun to my moon but an entire sky where my moonlight will be embraced instead of despised.

You are the sun, and I am the moon. Two lovers who shine their light, apart, as time intended, to avoid one living in the others shadow.