There are two moons surrounding me, one on each side. Right and left. One of them tells me I should be grateful, be blessed, that I am still one of the stars in the sky. The other moon tells me that I should want more, that I shouldn’t settle for being one star in the sky. I want to be your sky, nothing less will do, nothing less will suffice. Caught between two roads, two paths, fearing losing you, and yet, also, the fear of never knowing, of not trying. This is my tenth attempt.

You have a dizzying effect, and a scent that is a mixture of Oud and French scents. There is a danger in that I cannot hold you, cannot stock up on you, cannot carry you in my pocket, spray you liberally whenever I need to. What is the danger? Am I exaggerating? The danger is of loss, of losing the possibility of you. Can you tell the two moons I would rather you choose the road for me? I have failed to light up your path or mine. I shrug my shoulders, in defeat.

But then you say Hello and I get a glimpse of what could be, of what was lost, and how there are things that are better left unsaid, unexplained, and that I cannot write. I cannot write you. I give up.

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