"Dear Moon"

 

You asked me, whenever you saw the moon up there, why I never metaphorically claimed you were the moon. Each time, I found myself lost in its beauty. But remember, when I replied once—neither do I claim that you are mine. You giggled, staring at the moon, and said—But I am yours.

I think of it now, pondering why I had never perceived you as the moon. Perhaps it was because I always regarded you as the sun. I love waking up early to witness the sunrise. The sunrise in my life is like the opening sentence, and so is the sunset—the closing note. Every falling ray of sunshine upon my body makes me feel found, just as I used to feel with you.

You often wished for me to write a poem for you. I always said—I'll write one someday.

Out of innocence, in love, we imagine caging and being caged by the metaphors. But in reality, all metaphors might fail to define the lover metaphorically.

Now, when my eyes get lost while gazing at the moon, my mind keeps rewinding that remark. Every new metaphor reminds me of you. Every piece of my writing is all yours. Since then, nothing has remained mine. 

~A