Since we've met, it seems the stars have left the sky. I could pull the dense blanket of night around my shoulders and there hardly be a murmur to protest. The moon is as bright as an eye, a shiny dime leaching into silvery white, sneaking past and scattering shards across my bed and my sleeping face.
You laugh upon hearing this, insist there are too many stars to name still whispering brightly toward me. I leave you and stand under a blank, dark sky and wonder if you, too, see the shivering moon turning alone.
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