If the Moon Could Talk

I turned over the hourglass of time, and at last wanted to put an end to the slow, merciless torture you had inflicted on me over the long years. If I could indulge my selfishness, I would rather have quietly died that night when you couldn't see me. I would be covered with a white cloth and become a cold corpse, then a breeze stirring your hair, slipping silently into every crevice of your body, then a stone monument for you to remember me by, becoming your secret, offered up to the moon.