There are things we cannot admit even to ourselves, Marcus, even in soft whispers. Things we hide like stars in the morning sky.
Creating curated versions of ourselves, safe pieces of an ever-changing puzzle, held together by half truths.
Until someone sees the quick shift of a gaze, the practised smile that bridges an unexpected pause, until someone stretches on tiptoe to see through the crowd of doppelgängers…until like a soaring eagle’s wing, someone, for just a moment, darkens that morning sky.
Until you realise that only you can make your stars shine.
cup your hands
and gather the silent river
the black moon floats in it tonight