Loving you is like being a moon falling in love with the sun, always from afar, never meeting, never touching.
We may exist in the same galaxy, breathe the same space, bound by the same time-continuum, created by the same Creator, yet here I am, and there you are, both of us tied to Earth out of obligation.
And then the people would always wonder why the moon is mercurial and moody, always waxing and waning, when they never know of our story, of a love that never meets.
Once in a while though, the heavens would pity us and would give us a chance to meet face to face and a solar eclipse would happen. I would bask in your warmth and all the people would watch in awe. Our encounters though never lasted for long, it always end as soon as it begin. Once in a while, the heavens would also remind us that our love is never meant to be, and a lunar eclipse would happen. On those days when I couldn’t even see your face, and your warmth couldn’t even reach me, all I can do is shed tears made of blood. And the people would wonder why the moon is so red then, when they never know of our story, of a love that never touches.