The Red Moon


They say the red moon is rare.
But it’s not rare because it hides.
it’s rare because it only shows itself when it can no longer hold back.

He is like that.

He cares more than anyone knows.
He loves more deeply than he lets himself say.
But his heart is stitched tight, his feelings pressed silent.
To the world he looks distant, untouchable but inside, his soul burns like the brightest red.

He wants to be there.
To stay.
To hold.
But something in him pulls away,
like tides retreating from the shore.
So he stands close enough for you to feel his presence,
but not close enough to feel his hand.

The universe has many stories,
but his is written in the language of the red moon:
a love that lingers even when unspoken,
a warmth that glows even when he walks away.

Physical, I am there for you, not emotionally.
That is his truth.
That is his curse.


And maybe that’s why the red moon feels like him.
you only glimpse it once in a while, bright and unmissable,
you can feel its pull,
but you can never reach out and touch it.
It is both comfort and ache,
a reminder that some things are real
even when they cannot be spoken
and you never forget
how it made the sky ache with beauty.

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