On Breaking up with the Moon

Look, it just isn’t working. After all, I am 
a woman and you? You are a huge sphere 
of rock, tracing an elliptical orbit through space. 
We’re from different worlds. You circumvent the 
earth at two-thousand, two hundred and eighty-eight 

miles per hour, and I just can’t keep up 
with you. You’ve been so distant lately, but 
two-hundred and fifty thousand miles is distance 
enough for anyone. And I know you are wonderful. 
The nights we spent together were glorious. But when 

I don’t see you for weeks of cloudy skies 
I start to feel jealous of the stars. Let me start
again: I love the way you borrow the light of others 
and reflect it back to them. You are so generous, 
but we both know this isn’t going to pan out. Maybe 

I just need some space. You can be so cold, 
unforgiving, until I’m left wondering if there’s 
life out there at all. Sometimes you overshadow 
me until I feel eclipsed. And I’ll admit it: I’m a little 
afraid of your dark side. And I wouldn’t say you’re 

indecisive but you wax and wane so often, 
I don’t know what you really want anymore. 
People said you made them crazy but that’s not
true. It just takes patience to love you. I have lost 
my patience. And it’s not about the craters or the clangers, 

or the twelve men who shared your orbit 
before I came along, but being compared to 
them makes me feel inadequate. You don’t belong 
to anyone, and every flag I try to plant is bleached blank 
in the end. As if it never was. You starved me of oxygen, but 

it wasn’t your fault. You were never mine, 
and I should’ve known. So, this is goodbye. Take 
care. Give my love to Ganymede. And keep my footprints 
safe, I won’t be back this way again. 

Image via Unsplash.com



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