Ours was a slow-dying dance,
a heavy-footed waltz to melancholy
violins and out-of-tune guitars.
Sometimes, when we held each other close,
it was dusk splitting into a broken glass sky.
Others, it was you telling me not to care
so much for others or else risk
becoming a half-lit star, low on
fuel, exhausted and barely
breathing. What if this was my plan
all along? I said. Not to learn
how the moon glows but how
she fades by morning.