As time passes by, I find myself loving the full moon.
Years ago, I wrote a poem under its glow.
Though different phases have come and gone,
I still sit beneath its quiet light.

Gazing, wondering why your beauty never fades,
I fall in love with the brilliance of your light.
You are the opposite of the new moon,
Where darkness cloaks the night.

Now I notice how your entire face glows brightly,
As I sit here, gazing through the window,
Searching for words to fill the silence.
But words don’t come as easily as before.

It was easier to write back then,
With no pressure to make it better,
Knowing others wouldn’t even glance.
Now, I tread carefully with every word I utter.

And so, sometimes it feels better to withhold
Emotions that stir unpolished lines.
Yet staying true must remain the poet’s goal—
To connect with readers,
And let them savor every word.

I'm embarrassed to admit
That it feels awkward to read
Some of the letters and poems
I wrote back then—
To the future love I hoped to meet one day.

I wrote them courageously under the moon,
When pretensions didn’t exist,
Asking God if there’s someone meant for me.
And now, I’m a bit older,
Pretending those longings never existed.

And yet, the moon invites me again
To never suppress or hide these desires.
Wouldn’t it be more beautiful
If you come in any phase of the moon?

Wouldn’t you be excited to read the poems I’ve kept?
Wouldn’t you want to see the letters I’ve written?
Wouldn’t you long to hear me read them aloud?
To share the whispers of my soul with you?

Because I promise,
I’ll keep writing—
Even when the new moon comes.