same moon

a poem

When I fly,
I feel closest to my deepest heartache
and to the moon we swore belonged to us.
Just… us.

The moon that watched us fall in love.
Every time I’m up there, close to it,
I wonder if you remember the promise we made
not the three words we repeated
until they lost their shine,
but something softer, older,
something we didn’t even understand at the time.

“same moon”, we said every night,
as if those two words would hold
our entire world together,
as if they could bend time,
pull our futures closer,
keep us tethered in all the ways

we were already drifting.

Maybe that promise lived in our bones then,
teenagers thinking love could imprint itself
on everything we touched.

A lifetime folded in half.
And still, when I fly,
my heart makes a small
involuntary stop at yours
not to stay,
but just to feel warm again.