To the man who can’t stop searching…

We met where the moon twirls with the mist…the place the loneliest of hearts search for one another.

I’m confident I saw you first, the way your olive skin burned under the moonlight. Your eyes were skimming like pebbles across a pond, stopping once they locked with mine.

I cannot recall who took the first step, but your breathing corrupted my ability to think.

I don’t want to blame the enchanting vision of lights the constellations created around us.

I believe it was your words, your vulnerability that you revealed so easily that made me fall so hard.

I never went back to that magical spot because I didn’t have to…lying in your arms became my new favorite location.

Someone mentioned that they had seen you back where the moon twirls with the mist, your eyes grazing your options.

Your open ended search is breaking my heart and you have no idea.

My heart is heavy knowing I cannot express that I know you haven’t stopped searching, that you’re not content with what you found.

It hurts to regret locking eyes with you in the drunken air that night.

Were you just curious about what else the navy blanket of stars could offer you?

Part of me desperately wants to ask you why you still frequent the spot where the moon twirls with the mist.

Are you not aware that every breath caught, every I miss you whispered, every heartbeat skipped has now been deemed meaningless?

If this is your character flaw, you belong with the greatest of all tragic heroes—with the men who have lost their way because they refused to escape themselves—they refused to love anyone but themselves.

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