They said the moon fell in love with the sun. That was not the beginning. This was: “Have you ever felt love?” the moon asked, one night when it was full to bursting. “The kind that’s blinding, effervescent, and free?”
“I think so,” the sun said wistfully. “Once, with a distant star. Or maybe a reflection. Something shining.” The moon was quiet.
Years passed, in their cyclic waltz, yet nothing seemed to change. The moon would fill from dark to whole, then wane away.
Something shining. If only.
With a start, the moon realized it had fallen for the sun.