Sometimes I wonder if that author met you. You definitely have a knack for speaking uncomfortable truths. I recognized you instantly, and still can’t picture the character without your face. You see things the others can’t. Things that can only be seen by those who’ve seen death. For you, my Luna, the death wasn’t your mother’s, but your own. But like Phoenix, you were reborn even stronger. It is no wonder I follow you so easily into the fire. I remember you, my Luna.
It is only fitting I picture you in the moonlight. It is as though you were born from the moon. A piece of the Goddess herself. Perhaps this is why I worship you as I do. I wonder if you know that you are the star to every story you are in. Those who don’t see you are blind to it all. You float through this world, unattached to their opinions, and live in your own strength. I have always loved that in you.
I fall asleep and if the moonlight shines in the windows, you are there with me. I can picture your porcelain skin and smell that fresh softness as if you are in my arms. Do you remember that night, in the snow? When you illuminated the world with your moonlight as the clouds blanketed the sky? The snow reflecting the light from your eyes? Did you notice I saw? I see your light in the snow with every blink.
Come to me in the moonlight, my Luna. Come to me in the snow, and make your own moonlight. Come to my arms so that I can once again see in this darkness. Tell me of all that you see so that I may know even a glimpse of the hidden secrets you are privy to.
You are the star of my story, the moon in my sky. You are the odd one the others wish they could be. You are the kind and compassionate believer who sees past the surface. You don’t just practice magic, you are magic itself. I love you infinitely.
No, I’m not going to call myself “Rolf.”