It was the middle of winter and well past midnight, and yet there we were. Me, aimlessly walking down the beach, the soft waves caressing my feet. You, waiting in the sky, silent but confident, knowing without vanity that you would catch my eye.
I pretended otherwise at first. I looked in every direction but yours, feigning casual disinterest for fear of seeming too eager. But coyness has never been my strong suit, and I soon found myself returning your smile. As you glided down to Earth, the waves began to buck and shudder; but you crested them effortlessly and came to rest at my side.
We walked along the ocean's edge, making conversation as the fish braved the shallow water to follow your light. You told a joke, or I did; your twinkling laughter made my knees week. A man gathering cans and bottles from a trash can glanced in our direction, then turned his back. I kept peeking at him impatiently until, finally, he walked away.
How many times had I seen you in the sky without noticing you were following me? How many nights had I walked down the street by your light, never imagining that one day, for a few sweet hours, we would be together?
We reached the pier, and you were just able to fit beneath it with me. Your light—god, what beautiful light!—illuminated the wooden ceiling above us and made it feel as though we were in our own private room. And we put that room to use. I reveled in your fullness, slipped my hands into your craters, kissed your maria. I should have felt inadequate by comparison, my flesh and hair no match for the majesty of your stone and silica. But you put me at ease, and in the heights of our ecstasy you made me feel I was rising to meet you, not dragging you down to me.
We lingered a while after it was over. We made more small talk, though it was softer and less engaged than before. I kept my arm around you as we strolled, delicately avoiding the flag in your side. Eventually we knew it was time to leave. I gave you one last kiss, and you went back up into the sky. I smiled, waved, and hiked back to my car. I went to bed that night still coated in your dust.
Two weeks later, I saw you again. But you were nearly new, and seemed self-conscious, and I was busy with school and didn't have time to talk anyway; I fixed my gaze on the road ahead of me and kept driving. I hope someday we can meet again, but even if we don't I will always remember the night you were mine.