maybe I hope he is not the moon

How unique, comparing lovers to celestial bodies.

However I cannot ignore the similarities of myself and the sun. I am bright and life-giving. More importantly, I am constant. I am steady. I may hide behind clouds for months at a time, but I still create the day, even at my dimmest.

He is the moon. One of the most beautiful things we can see with the naked eye. His presence means safety and comfort in dark places. It signals the time to play, to awaken in a very different way than we do in the morning, at the start of the day. It is hard to see the stars when he is around.

But, he waxes and wanes, disappears for awhile, hangs at the edges. In these times, the stars are magnificent. The Milky Way stretches across the sky like passing clouds and makes me question my existence, makes me forget about the too-bright, attention stealing moon. I can never see the stars like this when the moon is around. It’s better when the moon is gone. It’s darker, yes, but such darkness prompts the happening of more exciting things, more inspiring things.

Picking one star is hard though. I don’t want to pick one. The beauty of the stars is in the collective. One star, even one planet, is nothing compared to a sky full. The collective, the many, is beautiful. The many is much better than the one.

And then the moon returns and brings with it the power of one. The stars all but disappear. I wonder how I ever forgot the shocking beauty of the moon. The importance, the wholeness of it. The familiarity and comfort. A full moon means no sleep, everyone knows that.

But I begin to question; if I’m the sun and he’s the moon, whose light am I basking in? Am I seeing his illumination in a night sky full of dimmed stars? Is that simply my light, reflected off of him?

Do I love only the reflection of myself that I see in you?

The stars at least have their own light, but they are nothing like the moon.

Maybe he is not the moon.




(Previously published by Harness Magazine at

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