Written December 2022, Copenhagen, Denmark
Some loves feel cosmic—too big, too bright, too impossible to hold onto. This is about one of those loves, the kind that flickers between illusion and reality, where words and eyes say different things, and where something beautiful is always just out of reach. Like the moon, it feels close enough to touch, but no matter how much you chase it, it was never yours to keep.
do you remember that night
you stumbled through
the door,
liquor dripping
from your voice,
asking if I wanted to chase
the supermoon?
so we did, barefoot on asphalt,
the world tilting under our feet
as you told me
you couldn’t trust me,
but your eyes
—hazy, fevered—
said otherwise,
spilling something
I already knew
that you loved me,
or at least the version of me
that fit between your teeth
that night
when I looked up,
the moon was trembling,
a pulsing wound in
the blackened sky,
too large
to hold between my hands,
too distant
to keep from fading,
just like us—
always burning,
always vanishing,
too large to grasp,
too rare to last
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