Every night, the moon relearns the language of the ocean.

You come to me like an ocean. You are vast and opening to me, mouth wide with quiet cries. You are silent. Those before me have crushed your crashing waves and you are beaten down like the sand at your feet. I dip my toes, slowly, and I know you are shuddering. There are those that avoid the water; it is dark, deep, dangerous, but there is so much beauty in your depth.

I feel you weaning to me, engulfing me, and all at once, I’ve gone numb. Every fiber of my being is on edge with you, flowing with you as I’m pushed here and there. At first, I am shocked by the intensity of it. Then, all at once, I am calm. You’ve flattened, waves bowing down to the power of something bigger than us. For awhile, we stay like this.

Then, I am no longer floating. My push was too strong for your pull and I feel your waves overpowering, sending me under. I am drowning in you, no longer able to keep my head above your waters. Your waves, crashing against my brittle bones, have returned; they fill my ears like a thunder I can no longer ignore. I cannot keep my footing with you.

I am beaten down, like the sand at your feet. You come to me like an ocean; I used to be your moon.

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