The night we met I danced on the moon, full from the catch. My mask discarded I revealed my true self, young and vulnerable, eager to be filled.
The next morning, I did not know your name, nor did I care. We danced through the day and into night again. Full of lust, my ego stroked by your attention, your primal need.
After, there were letters. Hand written words filling pages, traveling across the miles. I knew your name now, but was not sure what to call you. You tasted my fingers, like vegetables you said. You needed me. Wanted.
My young self saw the warnings; late nights out, disappearing acts, comments stinging, distance. Stories of pain, hurts so big they cemented your heart. My mask on again filtered light, turned the truth upside down. Loyal and eager for the dream I stayed. Days turned into weeks turned into years.
Decades.
The children took me from you, filling me with life and love where you could not. Your ego bruised, damaged, you continued your retreat.
Age wizened, I slowly began to listen. My gut knew what my eyes could not see. The facade became easier than the truth and then, not.
You promised me what I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me, but I knew. I hurt. Finally, camel’s back broken, I spoke. I knew now what to call you. Names flew out of my mouth and bounced off of of you, impenetrable. Strengthened by my voice I found the moon where I had left it, steady and hopeful it drew me.