I was once a part of a show,
Where a man was in love with the moon.
His love for her was used as a model
For what true love should really be.

I, too, love the moon.
I am one of her many admirers.

I smile when I see her
I laugh when she is bright
I dance as she waxes
I mourn as she wanes
And when she is gone, my heart pangs with sadness

I looked for her the other night
But the sky was covered in clouds and rain
And yet
Was I upset?
Did I weep?
...
No.

I missed her.
I wanted her to come back.
But I was not upset she was gone.
Because I knew, I know, eventually, she will come back.

For a love that is true should not be like the sun,
That which causes me to squint and scowl.
A love that is true should not be as wind,
Something gentle that could be furious, here today, tomorrow gone

A love that's true should be like rain or moon.
Ever present,
Somewhat predictable, somewhat not
And entirely beautiful.

For I could watch the rain
As long as I could watch his face,
Forever.

And I could talk to the moon
About what I can talk to him about,
Anything.