She Was The Moon

 

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She Was The Moon

She was the moon.

How could she have not known?

She was bright, but melancholy.

She was reflected light

and not by her own.

She was beautiful some days

but covered in clouds the rest of the time.

She sometimes wanted to disappear

but knew the tides needed her.

So she awoke when others slept

and kept herself covered when they didn’t.

There were days when just a sliver of her was left

and others when she showed her curves off.

She found pleasure in being on top of it all

but knew her greatest satisfaction

was during her solitary distractions.

She was mysterious

–but only because—

she was far away

and couldn’t be touched.

While the arc of her days

were spent spinning and shining;

the darkest part of her days

were spent waiting and longing.

People thought she was at her best

–when she was at her fullest–

but she believed her best to be:

at her smallest

and when she could barely see.

Because how could she illuminate

something as tiny as a crescent

and still be seen as magnificent?

She was the moon.

How could she not have known?

 

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