Loving the Moon

She came just before the sunrise.

She sat quietly next to him, as quick and silent as a shadow, just as the sky erupted in a palette of blushing pink and yellow fires. He turned his head towards her, liking better the way her eyes reflected the view before them like two mirrors; and he watched as for a few seconds, a ball of fire rose within them.

"Hey," he murmured, tucking a dark strand behind her ear.

A smile curled her lips, and she turned his way. "Hey," she answered, equally as quietly. Her hand came up to rest on his, feeling soft and small and smooth in his bigger, rougher one.

"I missed you," he said. He watched as the corner of her lips turned downwards and her eyes looked sadly at him.

"I know," she whispered, caressing his cheek. "But you know I can't stay."

"I know," he murmured and kissed the corner of her rosy lips. A sigh escaped her and so he continued to drag his lips over her cheeks, loving the way her skin felt so incredibly soft against his, or how her fingers entangled in his hair. He nuzzled his nose against her neck and breathed in that sweet smell which always clung to her, of sea salt and night stars.

He watched as she lay on her back, her billowing dark cloak spread beneath her like a shadow engulfing her frame. Her white arms rose to wrap themselves around his neck in two ribbons of ivory, her long tresses mingled with her cloak, and her silver eyes stared at him from beneath heavy eyelashes and fair eyelids.

The steadily rising sun cast flaming colours to her pale skin, highlighted sharp angles in gold, and casting others in shadow. He marvelled at the way her skin was like diamonds crushed into velvet, of how cool and fresh it was, like living snowflakes.

He kissed her like a desperate man. She was his oxygen as he dived in the sea, as he fell down a cliff, as he tumbled in the dark, and he lost himless like he had done countless times, every day, for years, and what sometimes felt like eternity.

He stroked her rich hair, those ebony strands of silk, like stormy clouds wreathed together, cut from the darknest of night, or the deepest of oceans. His hands strayed over her face; sculpted marble and visage of an angel; her parted lips of dewy rose; her fair brow, in which sat strength and wisedom; her eyelashes of dustings of charcoal; the fevered silver eyes that gazed at him, and only him.

His avid eyes took in her body, like a goddess, she basked in golden light, it rained down on her from the heavens, and he knew he could never tire of this, of her.

And she let out a sight and drew away from his embrace, her cloak tight around her. Her hair clung to her cheek, and fell over her eyes and so he reached out to tuck it behind her ear. She turned her silver eyes towards him, where he knew lay love and desire, and traced the planes of his weary face with her gentle fingers.

"You have stolen my heart," he said, the words escaping him before he knew it.

She let out a chuckle, a peal of laughter, and rose, away from him. "I know," she said, her voice falling down on him. "It is safe in the keeping."

He tried to catch her, but she darted out of reach, out of touch, always further, always higher. He wanted to call for her, but he knew he should not, knew it would not matter. For she was a goddess and he was a man, she was the heavens and he was the dirt beneath her lovely foot, and yet, she loved him, chose him.

"Wait," he shouted, his voice hoarse.

He chased after her because he could not stay, alone, even though he knew she would be back the next day. He knew he would never reach her, but he tried anyways. His breaths dwindled, his legs shook, his heart pounded like loud drums in his ears, but he continued.

"Come back!" he called.

Her laughter followed him wherever he ran, her cloak rustling like the wind on a starlight night, because she knew he could not catch her; but she loved him for trying anyways.

He followed her to the West, over hills and mountains, to the tumbling of the seas, to the crashing of the waves. He watched from the shore, the water lapping his weary feet, as she bathed her fair body in the foaming Ocean. Her ebony hair floated by her breast and with one last look of silver eyes, one last wave, one last mischievous smile and a promise to be there for the rising sun, she disappeared within the dark waters.

The nights are not so lonely when I know you're there, watching.

And so he sat down, felt his back groan in protest, massaged his tired feet, and waited. The young Moon rose, slowly and languidly, a beacon of silver, shining brighter than the scattered stars above, casting her loving, laughing glow over him. He felt it wash over his greying hair, over his face marred by time, and closed his eyes.

She'd cast down her golden crown when he saw her first. She had said she had never seen a mortal so fair, that she had beheld his beautiful face as he slept, and wanted him, but he did not believe her. He resisted at first, thought himself too simple, too plain, to unworthy, but she continued to convince him, to kiss him, to change his mind, until he gave in.

It was a hard thing to love a goddess.

And now he was old, nearing the end of his time, and she had not changed, her features unwavering, unchanging, familiar, like silver stone. Her fingers retained their green strength, but his did not, and sometimes he felt the bitter taste of mortalitly and death nearing, of respite. He glanced at his brown hands, at the shaking within them, and wished, once again, that he was still young. Still alive.

He coughed, but smiled wryly.

In the silence only unbroken by the steady rythm of the waves, he stared at the water, at the ondulating orb of white drawn on the black waves, and smiled at his lover.

He closed his eyes, and finally, he let sweet sleep claim him, and embraced it.

And for years later, they would speak of their love in great tales, known through all the world, of the love between Endymion and the Moon.