The day's end is pronounced by the moon's awakening. It sits above us, almost unsure, as it gleams faintly upon us, creating our shadows. I turn to you. The night has stripped all of colour, leaving only a dim outline behind. Still, in the calm of the darkness, you glow. You radiate beauty, your shine similar yet seemingly more spectacular than the stars above. Even underneath the sheet of black, you appear flawless to me.

Calm and clear, you blur the demanding darkness and replace it with a light so pristine that no being could deny its beauty. I wish you could see beyond the faults you claim to hold. There are angels in your angles. The moon is reflected in the far water, and I watch as its distorted image glistens gently. Still, a shattered surface is all that you have ever known to believe. The moon continues its quiet ascension upwards and over the horizon. It slowly emerges from night's unfolding arms, flooding the sky with its luminance. The silence soaking the air is filled only by the rhythm of our breath.

I exhale, and my breath raises in the cold. I watch as it dances, then fades away into nothing. As you sit there, beneath the makeup and the perfect placement of your ginger hair, I see you, and you are absolutely luminous to me. You have curled yourself and caught yourself in your own tangles that wrap around your ribcage and restrain you from realizing what I do. You don't see what you possess, what everybody sees. You bite at a polished nail, and I look up to the moon. It rises, every night, to drown a dark evening in light. The moon's beauty is skewed beyond skies and seas, almost singing, as it shines all alone. Darkness being its only company, it provides us with a brightness that everybody recognizes, but the moon cannot see it.

I turn to you once more, and you give me a forced smile. You are the moon, I want to tell you. You are the moon.