Almost Touching

         “A quiet moment stolen from the sky.”

It feels strangely intimate.

Like the sky paused for a second and let me witness something secret.

The tiny glowing point, the star, beside the crescent makes it feel less like a normal moon photo and more like:

• two celestial things quietly existing together,

• distant, but connected,

• suspended in silence.

And the darkness around them gives the whole image a lonely, cinematic softness. Almost like the scene belongs in a dream rather than reality.

There’s also something emotionally unresolved about it — calm, but aching a little. The kind of image you look at when you’re thinking about someone without saying their name.

                  "THE BEAUTIFUL ILLUSION" 

They looked impossibly close tonight —

two quiet lights suspended in the same dark sky,

softly existing beside one another

as though distance had forgotten them.

But the night only knows how to create beautiful illusions.

Between them lives a silence so vast

it cannot be measured by the heart.

And still, from here,

they appear almost touching.

There was something unbearably melancholic about it —

the way beauty can exist

without belonging,

the way some things feel near

only because we are the ones looking from far away.

I kept staring at them

with the strange ache certain skies leave behind:

not sadness exactly,

not longing either,

just the quiet awareness

that some distances remain infinite

no matter how softly they glow beside each other.