Memory and the moon

I want everything that reminds you of anything to somehow remind you of me too every little song, every place, every sky, every old feeling that passes you by, I want some small part of it to lead back to me, somehow, to you. I’m jealous of your childhood not of the years themselves, but of the fact that time moves only one way, and I was born too late to stay. I can never be inside a memory that happened before we met, and that is the one theft time commits that even love cannot forget. Of all the little moments that shaped you, the ones you don’t remember choosing, the days that made you who you are, the nights that left behind their scars I wish I’d been there. Even as a shadow, even as a shape against the wall, a quiet little presence you would’ve never noticed at all. Just somewhere in the corner of a room you walked out of and forgot, somewhere in the life you lived before you knew the life we’d got. To know you came from somewhere I could never have been, and love every story I was never written in. I’ll be the moon to your sun not lesser, just later. I have no light of my own to give, only the light you leave on my skin. I’ll catch whatever you give away and throw it back into the night, so when the dark shade finds you, you can hide under my burrowed light. I’ll let you shine as much as you want to. I’ll never ask your light to make room for mine. I’ll still be there quiet, somewhere near, through every distant sky, through every falling year. And when you’re tired, when your own light starts to fade, I won’t try to become your sun, I won’t try to take your place. I’ll borrow what you gave me and hand it back to you, piece by piece, light by light, until that dark shade remembers you too.