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Story Notes:

This was the first story I ever posted :3

One would think that with their lover in bed, people would sleep a lot better. That’s not the case for me though. I always wake very tired and sore. But I’m glad. It’s a sign that he’s with me, that I’m not alone. Even though he’s been with me all my life, my love for him grew into fruitation five years ago. Now I am fully in love with him and I’m sure he is with me.

Most nights, I wait until I can feel his presence and see evidence of him in my room. When I look out, I can see him hiding and sneaking glances from the other side of the tree. He knows I can see him but this is just a fun little game of cat-and-mouse, of hide-and-seek. It’s one of the many things that make our relationship so special.

We’re not always together because he has an important job so we can only be together for so long. He travels the world you see but always rushes to my side when he has a chance. And for my part, I try to be with him for as long as possible.

We don’t really do much though as he mostly just goes into my room and watches me. I have recently become a very dedicated editor and I enjoy my job. The job is even sweeter when I know he’s there with me, reading over my shoulder and experiencing the worlds that I’m experiencing despite all the adventures he’s had himself.

On those nights when he’s not there, when he’s too far away and just can’t make it even for those few hours we spend together, those are some of the loneliest night, for both of us. I know when it’s going to be difficult for him to come see me because his smile slowly fades. From a big smile to a smirk to slight arch that can be barely recognized to nothing at all. Even though he has the world at his feet, he has always been lonely. I have too. That is, until we meet each other.

When I was younger, he scared me a bit because I thought he was following me everywhere. It was thanks to him that I learned the meaning of the word “stalker.” Fortunately for him, no one else seemed to notice or even pay attention to his presence. Only I, the little girl of 5 looked up at him and thought he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I’m sure there have been others as well—he used to be worshiped early in his life—but ever since science came and disproved all the beliefs about him, it has really been only me. He was intrigued and had to know more about me. He followed me relentlessly whenever he could but didn’t realize he was scaring me…

“What do you call someone who follows a person everywhere?” I asked my mother.

“I don’t know. What are they called?” she responded with a chuckle, thinking I was telling a joke.

“No mommy, really, what are people that do that called…” I persisted.

“Well,” my mother started with a worried voice, “a person who follows someone everywhere is usually called a stalker… Stalkers follow people everywhere and won’t leave them alone…” she said.

“Mommy, why would someone follow us?” I asked timidly, scared for the answer…

“What?! Who’s following us???” she asked shocked, anger laden in her voice.

All I did was point at him and she just laughed, her anger immediately dissipating.

“He’s not following us sweetheart. In a way, we’re kind of following him. Just don’t pay attention to him ok,” she tenderly told me.

Oh how I loved my mother but I couldn’t help think ‘how can I NOT pay attention to him when I’ve never seen anyone like him before?’

However, the next time I saw him, I was horrified. He was very angry. Not at me and especially not my mother—he was used to people ignoring him—but at himself for having frightened me so. His pale visage was a shade of red that made him look sick and about to hurl. The moment I saw him, I screamed bloody murder thinking the world was going to end and then threw myself at the bottom of the car under the dashboard. My mother, having just been scared half to death, screamed, “What the hell is wrong with you?! Get back up and put your seat belt on before I get a ticket because of you!”

I had no chance to explain but then again, why did I need to explain? Couldn’t she see him herself? Did the way he look not scare her? After a few minutes of my mother trying to coax me out and finally just giving up and leaving me alone to hide, I finally emerged, ready to see his face and without worry of the world ending.

He had gone back to normal, the blood being drained from his face and making him even paler than normal.

In a quiet voice, a voice only he could hear despite our great distance, I asked him what was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what? You didn’t do anything to me,” I responded, unsure as to why he was sorry…

“I didn’t mean to scare you…” he started, a hitch in his voice that made my eyes start getting teary because I knew that noise. I knew the sadness attached to each “sorry” and for each “mistake” as we put it. I did the same all my life; as far as I could remember actually. And it was all because I didn’t want to be abandoned… I would beg for forgiveness, probably even get on my knees if I needed to, just to make sure that I wasn’t alone. And here he was, with the same voice and emotion as me. I may have been young and he may have been ancient (from a child’s perspective), but I knew that I had to help him.

That was the day our friendship started. And with each day, it grew stronger.

He was always with me. When my mother was pregnant with my first sister, I talked to him about her and how excited I was to be a big sister but he then told me, “Being a big sister isn’t as great as you’d think…”

‘Big sister… what does he know about being a sister I wondered.

With a blush starting to grow because of my expression, he immediately responded: “We-ell, that’s what my sister tells me!”

Agh! We have to get a red ribbon for your mom to wear!” my grama exclaimed after seeing his reaction. She may not have been one of his devotees but she knew many of the superstitions surrounding this mysterious man that was slowly becoming a big part of my life.

She didn’t like him—she didn’t like anyone that took me away from her—but she understood he was a good friend and lived with it.

On another date, when I remembered his comment about his sister, he told me how he looks nothing like her; they were complete opposites. And though they cared for each other, their jobs always made them stay on the other side of the world from each other…

When he told me who she was, I laughed in shock. I had never realized that the bright, annoyingly cheerful, larger-than-life woman who had been in my life from the day I was born was his big sister. Turned out she had been keeping an eye out for me now ever since her brother and I became close.

I felt bad because I complained about his sister quite often… I learned to appreciate her a lot more though thanks to him.

And as the years passed, I saw a lot more beauty in a lot more things. One of the highlights of our relationship though was when my mother finally “saw” him for the first time and saw his beauty as I had seen it all these years. Boy, is he a good photography model.

We spent about two hours shooting him. She is a great photographer but she just couldn’t capture him correctly; his essence is what she was after but couldn’t quite get. She loved my shots though. In contrary, I was unimpressed and very disappointed by them. Most were too bright while others were too dark. He comforted me though with that radiance that is keenly only his.

Many nights, I have found myself just standing in the middle of my backyard, my face in his direction, just enjoying the feeling of being near him. I would mediate beside him when he came to my room and just stare at him at night when I had the chance to go out back. But oh how I crave the skin to skin contact that so many other lovers have…

You see, he and I have a special relationship. One in which we are with each other at all times but not physically together. This isn’t about sex. No, it’s far from that. Whereas most couples can be intimate with each other through hugs, kisses, cuddles, and even holding hands, the most we can do is feel each others’ presence.

My love, for all that he is and how amazing, can never truly be with me. I guess I’m just crazy and very lonely… I have family and I have friends but I don’t have a companion or a partner that I can talk to and have an emotional relationship with. I don’t have that special person who is my love, my best friend, and my everything because the closest I have is the moon.

I fell in love with him early in life because he was the reminder of so many of my previous loves—Inuyasha, Ichigo, Zero, Angel—and because he was always with me. He was just as lonely as me but now we have each other. He may not really be “there” but he will always be my companion. And though I hope to one day find someone I can really be with, he will always be in my heart.


Chapter End Notes:
So, my first story on here... What'd you think? I hope it was up to par and not just hopeless nothingness... I'd like to add, I wanted to do the title in a different language (I didn't want to give the ending away of who I was talking about) so some of the possible titles I had were based on the meaning of "moon" in a different language. It was interesting to me. If you want to see, here are the other ones.

Bengail: চাঁদ (pronounced: Cāmn4;da)
definition: moon, BEAUTIFUL PERSON, glorious person, ugly person

Dutch: dromen
definition: DREAM, moon, have a dream about, day-dream

Haitian Creole: lalin
(I just liked how it sounded)

Ukrainian: l9;m1;l7;m1;m0;l5;l0;l2; (pronounced: suputnyk)
definition: satellite, COMPANION, fellow, moon, sputnik
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