It’s like she’s his sun, brightening his days,“ I say, "and I’m nothing but the moon.”
“The moon plays a big part in this,” My friend tells, “you realize that, right?”
“The sun may brighten days, but it disappears whenever things get dark, but you’re there. You’re always there, bringing light to his darkest times, and you even make appearances during the day, as if to check on him,” She states, “So, yeah. You’re the moon, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
I wanted to be the scent on your skin,
overpowering the Old Spice soap bar
and the reason your lips
ache the next day.
I wanted to be brighter than the sun
when you open the curtains
and as graceful as the dust
that falls onto your radiator.
I wanted to be the one
who traced the lines of your faded tattoo
and fixed your necklace
whenever it reversed.
One night you whispered to me,
“You are beautiful,” and all I heard was,
“It’s you, it’s you. It’s you.”
The next time, you asked,
“Are you seeing someone new?”
And all I wanted to say was, “It’ you. It’s you.
It’s still you.”