In the vast, dim canvas of the sky,
the moon perches,
like a night-blooming flower unfolding
in the darkness. It says nothing,
yet its glow reaches anyone who dares to look.

The stars flicker,
like quiet secrets dancing to a slow rhythm,
igniting hope
in the folds of the dark.
And in that soft light,
I try to sketch you.

You,
who were once a hope I could hold.

For a moment,
I let my guard down.
I allow myself to feel
the ache of longing.

Within four walls,
I barely dare to wonder:
Do you still look at the moon the way I do?