She lived in a breathless void of space,
surrounded by sentimental velvety darkness
that enveloped the galaxies in a single swallow.
She was the moon,
scarred by asteroids hitting her smooth surface
and frightened by the comets that blindfolded her in tasteless color
and monochrome ice.

The moon was alone,
cast in a gale of darkness and black matter.
All she could do was stare down on the earth from her nightly post,
wishing for a chance to be surrounded by the welcoming warmth of the living.
She no longer wanted to breathe the stale un-opened air of despoilment,
but to be unwrapped in a world where light was framed in a picturesque painting titled life.

Nonetheless, as time passed, the moon met the sun
and everything evolved.
The moon no longer hid behind the stars’ fiery dimpled smiles,
but she emerged from the smeared unblessed darkness
and took the sun’s large comforting hand.
The sun guided the moon with unyielding self-confidence
as they circled the universe together,
carrying each other over life’s obscure black holes.

The sun could not always hold on to the moon,
for she had to sleep and guard the earth when the sky was blue.
During this time, the moon would be hiding
tucked away in the folded arms of space,
waiting for the day to be wrung out of light.
The sun was the moon’s anchor that kept her tethered to reality
so she could not feel lost
and be caught in a whirlwind of scintillating stardust and planetary radiation.

Nonetheless, after years of being nursed and coddled by the sun,
moon learned to stand on her own.
The sun began to unlatch her everlasting presents from the moon’s life,
but she never left.
The sun resided on the moon’s powdered surface
acting like a crocked scar that could only fad and turn ashen as time passed.

In the end, the sun left sodden footprints on the moon’s soul.
That is why the stories say that
the sun loved the moon so much that she died every night just to let her breathe.