I went out to see if it was there. If it really looked beautiful. If it proves that we are indeed under the same sky. But it wasn’t there. I can’t see it by now.
The first time you asked me if I see it, the crescent moon, I was by your side. There was a minute of awkward silence and staring at the moon. Then I looked at you, and you laughed a little. I’ve been holding back the words I wanted to say. And perhaps I ended up saying the wrong ones. Or I could just spend hours listening to you. The way your eyes light up behind your glasses, it still comes through. It was beautiful like you say of the moon.
You offered your hand and I squeezed it a little. It was hard to let go when all I wanted was to hold it until we really have to go. Arrest the moment, freeze it. I couldn’t come up with words except to tell you that I am glad to have met you.
So you asked me if I see it. The crescent moon. Maybe I didn’t, because I was secretly taking glimpses of you.