When the Moon

I can’t close my eyes tonight.

You’re everywhere,

in the hum of the quiet,

in the breath that won’t steady,

in the spaces the dark refuses to hide.

It’s strange how love keeps you awake,

not because it hurts,

but because it’s too alive to rest.

Every heartbeat feels like a conversation

we never finished,

every sigh, a soft reminder

that you exist somewhere under the same sky,

probably thinking of me too.

Time moves differently here,

slow enough to ache,

gentle enough to keep me hopeful.

I trace the thought of you

like a constellation that won’t fade,

wondering if the stars

ever stay up for the same reason.

Then it shifts.

Not in the air,

but in me.

I realize love isn’t restless;

it’s waiting,

patient as dawn,

quietly certain that light will return.

The sleeplessness becomes something tender,

almost holy,

a space where longing and faith

finally meet.

And though the night never ends quite soon enough,

I’ve stopped counting the hours.

I let them drift instead,

each one wrapped around the thought of you,

soft, endless, awake.