i'll be the sky, you be the sun

I'll be the sky, you be the sun.

The sky can’t always cradle light.
By dusk, it aches,
bruised by the weight it carries,
resenting the moonlight’s glare.
In twilight, what is the moon
but a faint reminder of the sun?
A pale imitation, a distant reflection,
just a memory of warmth that once was.

When the night tucks us in
under its snug obsidian-weighted blanket,
eyes droop, heartbeats drop.
So why do our souls still yearn for the stars—
pinpricks of light amidst an ocean of black?

Hey you, yes you—
at dawn’s approach, shadows stir,
testing, teasing the boundaries
of words left unsaid.
But I’m drawn to the edge,
like a moth to what it believes
is the sun, real or not,
where your light meets
the receding night.

I'll be the sky, you be the sun,
and the moon, caught in between,
is the stillness we share,
the breath held before speaking.
Just as we surrender our fears,
we embrace the silent moments in between
as even the sky must yield to the night,
to feel the sun's kiss as it rises again.

Listen closely. Turn your ears towards the sky,
and hear the moon’s crooning
of past lives and old trysts,
a merry-go-round of memory,
witness to the cycles we repeat.
Yet under its glowing watch, there's also
a promise—of dawn, of another day,
of the sun's triumphant homecoming. Hey you,
yes you—can you see it? Feel it, even?
The way the sky bruises each night,
but begins to heal at first light?

In this vastness, we are specks
circling the fringes of an unfinished plot,
the pages slipping through our fingers
like sun rays breaking through clouds.
With each breath, each pause, each unspoken word,
the sky can’t always be bright;
it learns to accept the moon, love the stars,
and find respite in the night,
daydreaming on clouds as the sun retreats.

I'll be the sky, you be the sun,
and together, we'll give chase to Selene
from dusk to dawn, until the sky blushes crimson.
And in times of twilight, we find ourselves,
a fleeting stillness, a shared gaze.
Maybe the moon’s a reminder
that even in gloom,
the sun still glows,
reflected but real,
cradling the sky from afar until it rises again.

If you’ll be my sun, I'll be your sky.