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Description
she once told me, over a train table with some murky coffee, that she was unsure of herself. and I clenched my fingers in internal agony until there were crescent welts on my palms, little moons that shone of hope as my guiding light. there were teardrops clinging to her lashes, little melted icicles, and I held her hand and told her that I would capture the moon to see her smile.

she looked at me with uncertainty and whispered back, how could you possibly do that? the moon is so far away from us. it hangs there in the sky, in constant orbit, never getting close enough to hold or to touch.

and I smiled at her and used her fingers to trace over those crescents on my palms, and she watched as each individual one was lifted from its dark pink pain back into the normality of skin, and when she looked up again I could see them in her eyes, the little moons that had settled there, and the constellations of her tear-dew lashes –

I was swept up in her, and all that she was, I felt like she was a little part of my soul that occupied me and continues to, soft and subtle but there. she doesn't want me to talk about her and spread my word, as my word is that she is in the moon drenched evenings when you sit and watch the stars, and she is in the sun that warms the frozen with its sweet light, and she is my leader in the dance of life, but she thinks so much less of herself. and I swear with prayers dripping from my tongue honey sweet, that she will always be a deity to me.

Description
she once told me, over a train table with some murky coffee, that she was unsure of herself. and I clenched my fingers in internal agony until there were crescent welts on my palms, little moons that shone of hope as my guiding light. there were teardrops clinging to her lashes, little melted icicles, and I held her hand and told her that I would capture the moon to see her smile.

she looked at me with uncertainty and whispered back, how could you possibly do that? the moon is so far away from us. it hangs there in the sky, in constant orbit, never getting close enough to hold or to touch.

and I smiled at her and used her fingers to trace over those crescents on my palms, and she watched as each individual one was lifted from its dark pink pain back into the normality of skin, and when she looked up again I could see them in her eyes, the little moons that had settled there, and the constellations of her tear-dew lashes –

I was swept up in her, and all that she was, I felt like she was a little part of my soul that occupied me and continues to, soft and subtle but there. she doesn't want me to talk about her and spread my word, as my word is that she is in the moon drenched evenings when you sit and watch the stars, and she is in the sun that warms the frozen with its sweet light, and she is my leader in the dance of life, but she thinks so much less of herself. and I swear with prayers dripping from my tongue honey sweet, that she will always be a deity to me.