*It’s almost 2 AM

     I think you're a lot like the Moon. Not in the spherical, grey, dusty way, but in the sense that somehow, when you're near me, I feel waves beating inside my chest. You have caused the rising and falling of a tide inside me. It's inconvenient at best, and infuriating at worst, but I have nothing else to do but to follow the ocean inside before it erodes my shores into nothingness and sends my soul is drifting off alone towards the unreachable horizon, where the sea finally kisses the night sky. 

     You are always there, or the Moon is at least, waiting and watching, and dare-I-say, loving to do so. The people must seem so tiny and busy from where you are, like trails of ants on their pathways to and from their hills of dirt. It's lucky that I am the ocean then, because that means I'm the most noticeable thing on the globe, being seventy-five percent of the thing. You always say that I'm the only one you see in a roomful of people. It's a sweet lie; I appreciate the sentiment.

     I guess you're wondering by now why I bothered to write this. It wasn't because the Moon was orange tonight (although that did remind me of the badly done spray tan you got last summer before your sister's wedding), or because I'm planning some romantic seaside trip. It's just to remind you that you make me feel things, mostly nice, and usually unfamiliar and strange and exciting, and I hope I make you feel like that sometimes. I want to make poetic things happen inside you, like being lost at sea and wanting to be an astronaut. I guess that's what love is, or maybe it's just movie love (which is hardly real), but then again, maybe I just really like outer space.