moon of the sun.

He is the sun.

I am the moon.

He can shine on his own.

I could do with his brightness.

He has his own warmth.

I need his heat.

He is conspicuous.

I can be concealed.

He is vast.

I am little.

He is everything.

And I am nothing.

Without him, I won’t exist.

Without me, he can live.

Isn’t pathetic?

He exists fairly on his own.

He can survive without aid.

When every part of me screams for his protection.

Every gist of my subsistence calls for him.

I am just his shadow.

And never will I be his light.

He will always be my sun.

And forever will I be the moon.

The Moon, not entirely his.

And the Sun, selfishly mine.