I Was Never Good With Astronomy

You were the sun.
You were used to being alone. You thrived on loneliness.
The moment I met you, you shone brighter than anyone had before.
I had heard of you, but no one prepared me for the big, brown, Bambi eyes that looked right through me.
No one prepared me for the way you spoke, as if each word was carefully selected and then rolled around in your mind until a sentence was formed that evoked your exact thought.
No one prepared me for your delicate, bony fingers and the way they touched my skin as if my nerves were the strings of your guitar.
You were the sun, so hot, your touch so warm, and every day I pushed you to be brighter.

One day, suddenly, you set.

You were the moon.
You were never lonely. Every night you kept yourself surrounded by stars.
Each day took you further from me; each day you went through phases and I never knew which version of you was coming next.
I watched as you waned away, and one night, the sky was dark.
I was a wolf, howling to a moon I knew was there, knowing that moon could hear me, knowing further that it would not answer, that it would never answer.
It was my turn to be lonely, but I did not thrive.
I did not have stars to surround me.
I was alone. And you never were.
You were always the moon.
I was only a star that you let shine a little brighter than the rest.
But one day you didn't want to share the light anymore.