“Why is it you always write about the night?”/ he asks as he sees her scribbling down her thoughts again late at one in the morning.
She turns to him, unfazed and gives him a smile meant for the sun to shine down on.
“Because I feel there’s more sense into them. The night and us have something in common— something only the two us get.”
He lets her words sink into him, now looking over her shoulder with wonder in his eyes. He touches her ink stained fingers, pulling it close to his chaste lips.
“I do feel it.” He nods wholeheartedly, letting his eyes flutter with the beating of his heart echo in each other’s mind. She do hope he feels hers, too.
This is what she meant. It’s the silence and wishes that surrounds them. It’s the serene feeling, the stillness between them, that’s meant to be under the stars and the moonlight casting over their skins.
She finds comfort in the stars as it reminds her of his bright lit eyes. As he feels safe under the moonlight every night; it’s her softness that draws him the same with the moon in the sky.
The moon and the stars will not bat an eye as they just continue to look after you.
It is the night that hears the most silent and powerful prayers from the heart.
And I do hope at some nights, no matter how far we are, he would be awake as I am not visited by sleep— he would think how somewhere out there, there’s someone wishing to be a moon to another like him. There’s also someone wishing to be closer with the stars.
— ironically, I wrote this at dawn.
I can see over my writing figure, longing for the night in her arms.
180603; 5:51 am