The Moon Remembers

She waits by the window each night— not for a lover, but for the moon. The only one who’s never lied to her. Soft glow on her skin, silver fingers through her hair, a hush where pain once screamed. She tells the moon her secrets, the ones she hides from the sun. The nights she wanted to vanish. The days she smiled but felt nothing. The moon never judges, never interrupts. Only listens, gentle, constant, old enough to know how pain shapes people into poetry. She swears it shines brighter on her darkest nights. As if it remembers what she survived— and wants her to know it saw everything and still calls her beautiful.