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We're close. Like best friends. I'm tired. Its one AM. I wonder if he's here. Or if he thinks about me as much as I do.
The story teller.
I saw him when I was born... for a moment. I almost met Death... almost.
He saved me, I think. Or so I believe.
Someone told me today he was, at one point and perhaps and I hope still in love with me.
I cannont tell. I haven't seen him in a month.
I am called The Moon. I am only now just starting to believe them.
Its a lovely thought... for someone to be in love with the moon, or an embodiment of the moon anyway.
I write him letters sometimes and leave them at my window...
I don't know why.
I hope he comes back again soon.
The last time he left I waited seven years.

I watch the moon, or maybe a reflection of myself.
I cannot be... that beautiful...

Something is pulling me into a dream...