"Some people are meant to fall in love

with each other, but not meant to be together,"

they said.



And I started to think about

the sun,

and the moon

as the lovers who

rarely meet,

always chase,

and almost always

miss one another.



Each morning

the moon sinks

into the horizon

only for

the shimmering gold disk

to be able to

rose slowly

through the valley,

casting sunbeams

in every directions

while it illuminated

the small town

and began to

warm up

my pale skin.



And by the time

the sun was setting,

the sky was painted

an array of

pink,

orange,

and yellow,

the clouds held

the promise of

a calm, peaceful night

as the pale moonlight

began to show.



The moon loves the sun

so much that

it died every morning

to let the sun

breathe,

as well as

the sun loves the moon

so much that

it died every night

to let the moon

breathe.



But once in a while,

they do catch up,

and they kiss,

while the whole world

stares in awe

of their

eclipse.