Moonlight peeks through my curtains: I think she's trying to remind me of something. It's kind of like that day on your calendar that you starred or circled a while back, but now that it's here you can't remember why you marked it.
Normally her rays would be welcome in my room, but tonight she's just rather cold and grey. It brings an undesirably familiar taste to my mouth. Not a bad taste, just a memory-loaded one. The memories are a bit too pleasant.
I cuddle more deeply into my covers and try to ignore her. What can she do, really? She can't force me into remembering anything! She doesn't even have her own light to give, it's all just borrowed from the sun. Cheap, borrowed beauty...
I was in love with the moon, once. But then again, I suppose that was when the moon loved me.
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