The Moon Remembers

I never asked you to shine for me—

I only wanted proof that light

could return to what’s been swallowed.

You hang there,

a wound that never closes,

glowing like forgiveness

learned too late.

Some nights I think

you are the earth’s apology

for all we’ve buried alive.

You don’t rise,

you haunt.

You drag the dark behind you

like a name no one says out loud.

I’ve written to you before,

but ink feels small

against what silence can hold.

Still, I write—

because even ghosts

deserve to be answered.

And if you hear me,

don’t look away.

Just flicker once—

so I’ll know

the sky remembers what it kept.