He looked at her like the moon.
Not the angry glare reserved for the sun when it was “too bright” or the bitter whispers when it didn’t shine at all.
No, he looked at her like the moon.
Wondering her mysteries.
Thinking she was too far away.
Wondering how to reach her.
Admiring her from afar.
He looked at her like the moon.
Perfectly Imperfect Me 