"I've been thinking about you a lot lately."

A calm voice drifted over when I removed my headset. A smart-looking guy sat with a girl a few tables ahead of me. It was a typical Sunday evening at Dev's, a small cafeteria I often frequented.

I was in my usual corner, near the wide glass window. I looked out, and the sun was setting on the clock tower. A light drizzle was falling, and people in long black jackets, umbrellas shielding them, hurried by. I watched the scene unfold for a few minutes.

"Haha… you're joking, right?" This time it was the girl with the guy, her back to me. The guy seemed embarrassed. The girl kept laughing. "She has a lovely profile, though," I thought. Her head, slightly angled, rested in one palm, her short, wavy hair cascading to the side.

"Not joking… I've been thinking a lot about you, so it made me dream of you. I don't remember any specific dream, just that I dreamt of you so much… Whatever you wanted me to say, I've said it!" The guy replied, his voice tinged with irritation.

"Hey, sorry… I didn't mean to hurt you, okay," the girl said, leaning toward him. I saw the guy look at her like a fallen warrior, his irritation instantly melting away. A few seconds later, they held hands, their laughter soft and affectionate. "Ah… love," I thought, smiling gently at the couple. "It can either fix everything or shatter it all into pieces."

I gathered my scratch papers, which were scattered across the table. I picked up the last page; the final few lines were still missing. "Hm… tired," I thought, rereading it for what felt like the millionth time. It was getting dark. Streetlights were beginning to cast a dim, yellowish glow; not a single beam of sunlight remained. The sun had already called it a day. "The moon will rise and start her job soon," I thought with a sigh, mindlessly watching people cross the road. The drizzling seemed to have stopped. Again, without conscious thought, my eyes drifted back to the girl with the guy.

Suddenly, the door opened, letting a cold, somewhat intense gust of wind find its way into the coffee shop. The girl must have noticed the sudden change in the air. She glanced towards the window, shivering slightly, giving me a fleeting glimpse of her face. She was an extremely pretty, charming girl. But before I could fully register that, she turned her head, and our eyes met. Only then did I realise why her appearance felt so strangely familiar. Her wide eyebrows, small yet sparkling eyes, and short, curly hair — perfectly balanced and tucked behind one ear — created the picture of an angel. "I must be daydreaming," I thought, grappling with the unexplainable feeling. "Just like her. No, maybe not; it's just my mind playing tricks, an illusion!" I began to argue with the undeniable image I'd just seen. "Time to go," I thought, a strange reluctance welling up, a desire not to lose… something I couldn't quite grasp.

I picked up the book I was reading and all my scratch papers, pulled on my hoodie, and started walking. When I reached the table where the couple sat, my heart pounded, losing its rhythm. Even though it was so cold, my whole body felt like it was on fire. I passed the girl, and a few steps beyond, an intense desire urged me to look back, a silent plea forming in my mind: please be her, even though I knew it wasn't possible in any world. I summoned all my courage and looked back, only to see that the girl sitting there was someone completely different. "An illusion, then. At least I had an illusion," I thought as I opened the door to exit.

Soon after I stepped outside, the noisy streets shattered the quiet world I'd been inhabiting. I hurried to the alley that led directly to my apartment. The moon was shining through a break in the clouds. A full moon shone among millions of stars. "So beautiful… the moon has its own unique beauty," I thought, staring at the night sky — the only constant witness to my smiles and tears.

"You know why we shouldn't use 'moon' as a metaphor for someone we love?" I remembered asking her enthusiastically.

"Nope, I can't think of any reason," her voice echoed in my memory.

I never did explain my reasoning to her. "Hm… the moon is beautiful, it shines, it follows you everywhere, it's there for you… But it is the moon; it belongs to the sky, not to you. It always gives light from miles away. You can only see it from a distance. You will always miss the full moon. You will always miss it when it's completely dark. You will always want to be around the moon. But you can't, and you won't. So, tell me, who would be strong enough to endure missing someone they love like that? To do nothing but stare into the encompassing darkness, waiting for the full moon to rise, just to feel its presence for a little while?"

My thoughts grew intense, but then I passed the small French gift store, distracted by a gentle song playing from within. I paused there for a moment, staring through the window. A few minutes later, I was opening the door to my apartment.

I lived on the upper floor of one of the tallest buildings in the city. A wide glass window, covered by a dark curtain, opened onto a balcony large enough for two people. A few flower pots sat there. I loved flower pots, for some reason. I threw myself onto the bed, my hands clasped behind my head, and gazed at the ceiling. My gaze drifted blankly around my tiny room. There wasn't a single framed photo of anyone. I was not alone. Darkness and dead silence were my constant companions. I got up and slowly walked toward the window. The moon, still, was there, shining.

"How wonderful it is," I mused. "Even though it is miles away, far from any reach, it still pushes away the darkness of night and the sorrow of the soul in such a gentle way.

But you should not love the moon. No one will ever be strong enough to miss the absence of the moon; when it is not around, when darkness reigns, when dark clouds appear, and when everything is reduced to shades, you will miss the moon so intensely you'll want to tear your heart out to release the pain you are enduring. Believe me, even the strongest will break into atoms when that happens. Love, my friend, comes with great sacrifices; sometimes, it will demand your very soul to break."

I was arguing with myself while trying to find a particular star I often looked for. "No one will be strong enough except me," I sighed. "Even the strongest will break into atoms, but not me," I sighed again.

She was always there, walking beside me on my evening strolls, beneath reddish skies, with birds flying overhead, through alleys both busy and noisy, yet somehow calm and silent. I always tried not to look directly at her, afraid she might disappear. Or perhaps I preferred reliving the memories, letting imagination overtake reality. I recalled the girl from the coffee shop, imagining if it had been her, trying to picture her expressions. It made me burst into tears — tears I couldn't label as happy or sad, or perhaps they were neither. It wasn't just my eyes filling with tears, but my heart too, overflowing with flashing, nostalgic memories I would give anything to relive. I recalled waiting for her message every morning. "Ah… time passes, but some things never change." Deep down, I knew that even now, just as back then, I was still waiting for a message from her, though years had passed since I left.

She was my full moon; she still is, and she always will be. Even if missing her means being broken into atoms, my heart torn, my soul shattered, I will always love my full moon and wait for it to rise, even if just for a day.