I hate him. He's the shadowy side to my moon. Unfortunately, all moons must have their shadow. It's a fact of nature, of physics. He's not always there, but he is for the most part. He's there for him in ways that I cannot be, that I choose to not be. There are many things I would do for my moon, but not that. Never. That.

            One would think that I would be that shadow, that I would be the darkness that mars the light. It would make sense for the star to be light rather than shadow. But I suppose the last name takes precedence over the first name. Black. Always there, hugging him, talking to him, comforting him. It makes me sick.

            The moon is stronger than that. It rules over the water, over the mind. It doesn't need that comfort, that reassuring… It needs no stars, for it outshines all stars. And in time, stars burn out. They die.

            But the real darkness stays, not necessarily the Black. I. Will stay. Even the brightest star, beautiful as it may be, will fall. Every dog has its day. And his day is up. The moon is mine. I can be patient.