The Moon Remembers

She waits
by the window
each night—
not for a lover,
but for the moon.

The only one
who’s never
lied
to her.

Soft glow
on her skin,
silver fingers
through her hair,
a hush
where pain
once screamed.

She tells the moon
her secrets,
the ones
she hides
from the sun.

The nights
she wanted
to vanish.

The days
she smiled
but felt
nothing.

The moon
never judges,
never interrupts.

Only listens,
gentle,
constant,
old enough
to know
how pain
shapes people
into poetry.

She swears
it shines
brighter
on her darkest nights.

As if
it remembers
what she survived—

and wants
her to know
it saw
everything
and still
calls her
beautiful.