Piercing sunlight shining through a window,
Ephemeral blades stabbing into me,
Pinning me in place.
That’s what she was.
Absolutely radiant, illuminating with her presence alone.
Rising right with the sun, morning coffee as white as her bed sheets.
Gleaming teeth exposed as she laughs, sweet and fleeting as cotton candy.
Floral sundresses and large hats a staple of hers, forever in a perpetual summer.
Mimosas sipped with a beachside breakfast, the only drink she’ll ever imbibe.
Spending her tropical jaunts seaside, buried in her Nicholas Sparks novel.
Pure, gorgeous, vibrant, carefree, glowing, flawless.
She’s daylight.

But I’m moonlight.
Beams twisted and reflected by the water in closed bays on lonely beaches.
In the 24-hour diners with a woman perpetually smoking a cigarette at the register,
a tweaker passed out in a booth, holding his partners hand.
Under the pervasive neon lights of dying bars,
bearing witness to the drunkards mourning love and liquor lost,
Through forlorn streets, under dimly sparkling lights,
bundled in beaten and weathered coats, just barely safe from the chill.
Drinking wine by the bottom shelf bottle to cloud future-bound thoughts,
feelings spilling out in ink or wine, impossible to tell through the stupor.

Maybe it is true that opposites attract,
maybe that’s the reason
I can’t get away from her.
But maybe it’s hopeless,
maybe I’m the moon,
doomed
to forever chasing the sun across the sky.