A man and the moon

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The full moon was always the symbol.  No matter where he was in this world, we were connected through the phases of the moon.  I am a moon child, it just seem to fit.

When I saw the full moon in the sky this morning hanging so low and full, I was a little sad.  This isn’t what I wanted.  This isn’t how things were suppose to be.  I can’t even say it’s his fault, I allowed him to be him.  That’s all I thought I wanted.  Then the long months of silence, the pain of loving someone who puts everything else first.  I allowed it.  Like I didn’t deserve better, I did.

The full moon no longer connects us.  I’m learning to see the full moon in a whole new way.  It’s my symbol of hope, the hope that one day I can love and accept myself openly and completely.  I stopped pointing out the full moon to him, it doesn’t matter if he sees it, if he smiles, or even if he thinks of me.  It won’t change what is. Everyday I’m trying very hard to mend me.

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