Touch the Moonlight
You've closed the window again. I always beg you not to, not that I don't know that you won't listen; it's a habit I guess.
Comes with the years, or something like that.
I can still see the moon, still gaze upon the moonlight, and still see the pale shadow it casts upon us.
Except that it's not.
The almost white light covering our room, our bodies, is just a fragment of the real light.
Something given to us, a blessing, only for us to realize that we've been tricked. It's not real.
Never was, only felt like it when we were inexperienced.
Because between us and the moon is a thin layer of glass. Invisible for our eyes to see, except from some angels, but see-through, no doubt. You can even walk into some, only to come to a painfully halt when you collide. 'Bang', welcome to reality.
The moonlight is filtering through yes, but it's not the same radiant light inside our room. No, it's just a mirror of something that could be so real.
You moan slightly in your sleep, your hand clenching slightly where it's resting beside your head.
Shifting my eyes from the window I turn to you. Smiling slightly at your appearance I reach out to push back some blond slings from your face, but before my fingers have grazed your pale skin you sigh, shift so your back is facing me and snuggle into your pillow with a content murmur.
I swear that if reached a little further, I'd be able to touch the glass.