december 23/24th 4:06 a.m.

    She couldn't help being drawn to him, his mischievous smile that seemed to hold something back, the air of power that surrounded him, the fire he walked with, self-assured, confident, worrying only about himself. He was untouchable.
    He was everything she dreamed of becoming, although he was only human. He worked hard to achieve his wants, needs, desires, while she could only dream of having the ability to pursue her own wants, needs, and desires. She daydreamed day and night, wasting away, many plans that could have been but never were; she didn't realize her potential, and when she did, she ignored it, keeping it hidden to avoid moving on with life - one of the things she wanted - for fear of change. She could never be like him in that way, which she knew. Seeing him, his eyes meeting hers, fleeting smiles exchanged, she knew it was nothing short of fate.
    She wanted him to save her from himself. He never would.
    She looked to him with questions, fears, an open wound waiting to be healed. She believed he had all the answers, that he was all-knowing, an otherworldly force that could save the day, much like a superhero. She couldn't face the reality that he was a man, only a young boy struggling to keep it together for himself. He too looked up at the moon in wonder, she seated on his lap, gazing through the window with longing eyes. His words would cut her like a jagged blade, always the same question, What are you looking for? She never knew how to respond that she didn't know, her eyes were drawn to the moon, shrouded in mystery and enchantment. He didn't realize she often looked at him that way, absentminded, dreamy, curious eyes that wanted to know more, more, she wanted to know all. She couldn't handle the truth.
    Small things set her off. It was never the big picture, it was always things that could be changed but failed to come to the surface until they became problematic in every aspect of their lives. It was for that reason that they argued publicly, unable to mask the anger that they had suppressed for so long, an anger igniting inside of them, impossible to ignore much less stop. They would shout, throw things, drawing attention to themselves, one of her biggest pet peeves. He didn't care if they looked at him or not, he only saw her, the way her lips moved rapidly, spitting out words, hands making gestures to express her fury which she couldn't contain, causing her to occasionally throw things. Excitement would run through his veins, ready to fix the problem at hand, but it was never that simple. The problem, whatever it may be, was not usually able to be solved with the wave of a hand. It would not go away overnight, she would not forget about it for years, the problems would nest in the back of her memory, rotting away, the stench a reminder that awakened when they would argue about a matter at hand, but unable to resist the previous dilemma she would bring it up, throwing it at him without warning, leaving him to fend for himself blindly.
    She had bruises on her arms, thighs, neck, his fingertips squeezing tightly to leave an imprint which reminded her he loved her, he wanted to be as close to her as possible but she felt it was impossible. He was only a memory, even when he was near, even when he was right next to her, even when he was inside of her. He was never close enough. She craved to be consumed, the way a piece of paper is engulfed by a fire, taking all, leaving ashes. She wished to be his all. She craved his taste, the smell of his hair, the feel of his rough hands, but most of all she missed the way he spoke her name quietly, the way you would a secret. She wished her name were beautiful, soothing as a lullaby, or captivating in its beauty, or different, at least. She wished her name was Luna. It was hypnotizing, exciting, bold, mysterious.
    From a young age she knew of her darkest desire, she was in touch with her worst fears, she faced her faults daily. She knew how cruel and heartless a human being could be, not of evil but of everyday people with many faces, point of views, desires of their own. She knew what they could make that person do. She knew, from the time she was a young girl of about five. The feelings of knowing seemed to come to her without having experienced the ways of another's cruelty first-hand, like intuition it hit her.
    Sitting in her man's lap, head cradled into his chest, tucked under his chin, she admitted that she knew he was hers from the moment their eyes met. Taken aback, his eyes ask dozens of questions but hold them back, waiting for her to speak up, knowing that if he asked "the wrong thing" she would shut up, feeling attacked. Sensing it was alright to talk, she told him of how she felt when he looked at her, the intuition she had spoken about before resurfacing. The urge to talk to him was like an itch unable to be reached: she knew she would regret it if she didn't. He listened carefully without saying a word while she gave details about how his eyes pierced through her, setting her on fire, electric once more. When he first spoke to her, she released a weight in her chest, the satisfaction of knowing that she would belong to a man she had only dreamt of hitting at last. What she didn't share was how she knew she belonged to him in a past life and that they were destined to be together in this one, even possibly in the next. That was why, when he looked at her, the feeling of unease that she carried most of her life melted away, satisfaction hitting her unexpectedly: he was enough - he was everything. His masculinity was intense but it excited her, encompassing her child-like ways, too precious for the outside world.