Moon

He whispered to her, sweet nothings of stars and the moon. He wrote poetry and sang the blues. All sweet nothings. She stared closer and closer. Thinking, can he see it? This aura of what he searches. Can he see this light? Sweet nothings. What a pack of lies. Yet, there she was. She stared and smiled. As he sought the light. She beamed. Brighter. Glowing in knowing. There was the moon in black and white. Salted tears faded to smiles. As he looked for something. She needed nothing. She wanted nothing. So she smiled. The mirror and the light. She beamed in the night. Sweet dreams my forgotten love. I pray you find your light. And I, shall wait under the moon. Beaming bright.

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