It Was Midnight When The Moon Fell Off Its Nail,
Swung Like A Pendulum, And Cracked
Onto The Skyline , Rocking
Back And Forth Besides The Bell Tower
Of My Home Town.

I Wonder Who’s In Charge Of Nailing The Stars Back Into Place.

My Mother Always Wanted To Be An Interior Decorator
And I Asked Her If She Could Rearrange The Constellations
So That I Had Better Fen Shui, 
Maybe Face Orion’s Belt Towards The Window
And Make Another North Star 
To Guide Us All Home.

Maybe Then, We Wouldn’t Be So Lost.

An Hour Ago I Stood Besides A Man At The Bookshop 
Who Looked Like He Had Held Death Like A Lover,
And Engraved Her Initials Into His Chest. 
He Was Haunted, And I Wanted To Tell Him
That I Loved Him
That I Loved Any Man
Who Understood How Beautiful It Was 
To Carry Around Ghosts Like Shoplifted
Earrings In Our Back Pocket.

And I Could Have Loved Him. I Did, Love Him.
But I Couldn’t Tell Him That. 
Not Then, Not Ever.

Because The First Time I Saw A Shooting Star, I Was Moonstruck.
And I Realized That Everything I Loved
Could Burn Me If I Got Close Enough.

— Shinji Moon