Lasting Love

What does it mean to be in love with the moon?

For me, it’s never been about romance in the traditional sense. It’s about reverence—about a deep, unspoken bond with something constant and celestial. The moon has always stirred something within me, something I can’t quite name, only feel.

I find myself searching for it—peeking through windows, scanning night skies, pausing mid-thought just to catch a glimpse. And when I can’t see it, I no longer believe it’s because the moon is hiding. I’ve learned it’s simply my position that isn’t aligned with its view. The moon is always there. Constant. Faithful. Watching from above. And somehow, knowing that comforts me.

When I do find it, hanging luminous and quiet in the night, I feel a childlike joy. A small spark of excitement that runs through me as if I’ve just stumbled upon a treasure. My eyes lock on, and a thought rises from deep within: “I know you.”

Because I do. I’ve looked up at that same moon since I was a girl. I’ve whispered wishes to it. I’ve let my tears fall under it. I’ve stood in awe beneath its glow, year after year. And it has never once failed to move me.

The moon, in its silence, teaches me more than words ever could. It reminds me that beauty doesn’t have to shout to be felt. That even in phases, even when it disappears for a time, it is still whole. Still glowing. Still part of the rhythm of the universe.

To love the moon is to love something that doesn’t demand your attention—but always deserves it. It asks for nothing, and yet gives everything: mystery, serenity, reflection, and the comfort of something greater than ourselves. Something watching. Something knowing.

Perhaps that’s why I love the moon. Because in some way, it reflects the parts of me that long to be seen not just when I’m full and bright—but also when I’m barely visible, yet still becoming me.

And maybe, just maybe, it reminds me that I, too, was made to glow… even in darkness.