I watched the full moon last night. It glistened like your eyes on the night you told me you loved me. The night that we laid our heads down and let the blades of garden grass tickle the backs of our necks. We danced to the rhythm of the wind and let our laughs drift through the air. We didn’t have a worry in the world. Your skin felt electric next to mine, sent fireworks shooting through my body. That was the night I collapsed into your arms and understood that that was where I wanted to be. And, when the world was crumbling to dust around me and I was on the verge of falling, you would be there to catch me. You would press me into your chest and let me listen to the beats of your heart and I would be reminded of the words you whispered into my ear on our first date.
“Someday we’ll reach the moon, together.”
The grass was itchy on the night I gazed up at the moon alone. It shone but it didn’t shimmer. Its touch didn’t feel the same as yours – not as intimate. Because I knew I was sharing the moon with billions of other hopeless romantics, lost hearts longing for someone to call their own. Someone they wouldn’t have to share. Someone that would make their cheeks ache and insides explode, just like you. Someone that would make them feel worthy, make them feel as if their life had some sort of purpose, just like you. Someone they would find and promise to never let go. But, unlike you, they might actually keep their promise. And those lovers, they might reach the moon someday.