They told me the moon was only a reflection of the sun,nothing more than a pale imitation of something brighter, something real. But they never told me that the moon, too, could burn.I learned too late that love, when it’s forged in the fire of obsession, doesn’t just illuminate the night. It consumes it.I remember the first time I saw him, beneath the twilight of a crescent moon, his silhouette like a shadow carved out of the stars. There was something magnetic about him, as if the night itself had drawn him to me. I should have known then. Should have realized that the light he offered wasn’t the kind you could hold onto.But love makes you blind. It makes you believe in things you know aren’t real, things that burn you from the inside out, leaving you to wonder if you’ll ever be whole again.I can feel the heat now, even in the cold silence of this room. The memory of him, of what we were, lingers like smoke, intoxicating, suffocating, and ever-present.The moon is full tonight. I wonder if he’s watching it too. Or maybe he’s already forgotten about me.It doesn’t matter.We were never meant to last. And yet, I keep chasing the light that never was, hoping to find him in the shadows.But shadows don’t love. They only follow.