They say the moon is beautiful. But you were my moon. Do you remember, we were having late night conversation and you told me that you wished I was with you. We would not make love, but you would lean on my chest instead, listening to my heart shouting your name in each and every beat, and stare the moon pinning the images of our beautiful moments on its surface, enhancing its beauty. It all remained a conversation. Now that you are blocked in all the social media platforms I use, I sneak peeked your account and noticed a "Selenophile" in your bio. Now that I think about it, I want to know what makes you love the moon? Do you still see us in its beauty? Do you feel me in those dark lone nights when you skip sleep, sitting in your terrace, staring the moon? Do you find me in the cigarette scent you blow while the tears trickle down your cheeks? Do you feel the warmth of my breath when the cool air touches you gently blowing your hairs? Do you constellate me in the shiny stars, kissing your neck, whispering "I love you"? Or do you now see the one whom you lie every night saying "I love you" where the truth is I am still in your mind? I strongly wish I could live those days again. We would sit in the terrace, your head on my shoulders, you staring the moon and I staring you. We are both selenophile. It's just that I see my moon in you. ~Destruction
