"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.
