Luna

I've always loved the moon.

I've loved her more and harder than all the other things combined for as long as I can remember.

But even though my eyes light up like the twisted and broken stars that they are when I first see her every night.

And even though I feel most at home bathing in her bright uneven shadow.

And even though I lie awake most nights just staring up and marveling at the beauty of all of her imperfections.

I'm also afraid.

I'm afraid of her light and the warmth that comes with it.

A warmth so subtle that I never notice it's been there at all until the moment passes and I find myself fighting back tears, sad because it's gone.

I'm afraid of how she's always moving.

She has phases that shift and swirl in dangerous patterns that remind me too much of change and all of the pain that it brings.

But most of all I'm afraid of her gravity.

I'm afraid of the way she's constantly pushing me down and pulling me back up.

What man in his right mind stands in front of the moon and hopes to be anything except stripped bare?