the art of loving

She loves me more than the moon

She told me the other day,

As I tried to imagine

How much can one love the moon?

But I know my love for the stars

On a cold night

Brings me warmth

Immersed in a dark sky.

She removed her glasses

And looked at me, smiling, she said

“I can see my reflection in your eyes,”

I touched her face, on both sides

And tried to see mine.

There are those moments

Too deep to speak,

Too close to touch,

Just long enough to breathe.

It’s those times when life

Is perfectly balanced

Between the bitter and sweet,

And the after taste is like the after glow

In the late afternoon,

When the orange sun dips into red

Turning the day

into the hour that burns

Leaving the remnants of pretty colors

Slowly fading.

There is an art to loving

And letting go,

Swinging through the layers of pain

-Being afraid

While holding tightly onto hope.

If it hurts myself to love you

I will love you still

And if it hurts you to know what true love is

I will still not withhold it from you.

You say you love me more than the moon,

I say I love you more than the stars,

But true love is not measured by size

But by how far.

She said that she loves me

more than the moon.

She told me this the other day

I tried to imagine,

just how much can one love the moon?