It is another beautiful moon. Looked upon by the billions some noticing it for the first time, some indifferent, but me, I steal glances when I can but most times, I just can't stop staring I tell myself, maybe this is the the only way we can love each other, when it is night and you hear the quiet russle of the neighbor's dog in the bushes around When catharsis is almost always the only option, and yet it is still there beaming with all the beauty creation bestowed her, silent, not judging In that moment, I wonder, does she also stare at the same moon standing at her balcony or maybe looking out a window It is a poor romantics' idea that some how the moon I love will whisper to her in ways I may not be able to - unbroken by the peace, a quiet night spent in her bed reading a poem or book My mind wandered again and the thoughts birthed become strange as soon as it is conceived.