dear ocean,
you say you are tossing and turning fitfully, trying to see my face. but i am sitting still as a stone, convinced that i have somehow displeased you, and this is my punishment.
what did i do, ocean, to desrve this miserable existence of mine? the moon cannot give life; she is barren and lifeless and alone and broken and scarred and she's tearing herself apart again.
i'm afraid, ocean, that one evening when i start to peer over the sunset-screen i'll see you holding the sun in your arms, promising her the shoreline no longer has any importance; the moon could never be loved; and the starfish you once stole from the heavens are hers again.
i'm afraid, ocean, that if you spend so much time kissing the shore you'll not want my presence again.
dearest ocean, i'm afraid. and i detest this fear that courses through my star-blood.
perhaps i shall see you tonight, my ocean.
love,
-moon
SheDreamer