lunar love

oh, how i love her.

i have forever been in love with the moon. she is my solace and my peace.

when i was younger, i was sitting in the back of the car, gazing at the sky and falling asleep. i remember the way the warm streetlights blurred as we drove, the windows slightly fogged up from my breath. i asked “why does the moon follow me everywhere?” to which my dad smiled at my innocence, and replied to tell me there was a prince inside, madly in love with me. it made me giggle, but i didn’t question it. i believed him completely. in that moment, it felt true.

over time, i realised there isn’t really a prince that lives inside the moon and loves me, but regardless, i love the moon.

a picture of my best friend that i took on a telescope.

the moon holds my secrets. she has seen me cry in silence and smile alone. she doesn’t judge me, but silently listens to my every thought. she doesn’t ask questions, she just understands. i often find myself gazing at the moon- she’s been my lifelong companion. a constant. she’s always there, no matter what. every night, i can count on her to be glowing right outside my window, calling for me to talk to her, to sit in silence with her.

there’s magic in her phases. in her shedding and renewing. there’s always been something sacred about her. across time, cultures have worshipped her, told stories about her silver glow, feared her fullness and danced beneath her light. i like knowing that my obsession with her isn’t new- it’s ancient. i’m not the first girl to whisper hopes, dreams and sobs to her. and i won’t be the last.

for me, the moon is more than beautiful. she’s spiritual. a soft, glowing witness to all the versions of me i’ve ever been. on full moons, i go on quiet walks. i don’t go looking for answers. i just walk, slowly, letting the moonlight soak into me. it feels like being cleansed without water. like something invisible is aligning inside me, even if i can’t name it yet.

sometimes i write under her light. journal pages filled with things i can’t say out loud. other times, i just sit by my window and sip tea, pretending we’re talking. a ritual i’ve had ever since that night in the car.

behind the scenes.

she reminds me to trust in cycles. to honour rest, softness, silence. to release what no longer serves me. every phase holds meaning: the waxing as invitation, the full moon as climax, the waning as goodbye. i don’t follow rules or rituals too strictly-but i do believe in energy, in timing, in sacred moments that ask us to be still and listen.

i think i’ve lived through many moons. there were times i was nothing but a sliver of myself-barely there, surviving. other times, i’ve felt full, too full-brimming with love or sadness. i’ve learned that i’m allowed to be all of it. the quiet new moon. the bold full moon. the in-between.

i’ve never really been a sun girl. the sun demands attention-bright, loud, unapologetic. the moon doesn’t ask for anything. she just shows up, quiet and glowing. maybe that’s why i love her. she doesn’t need the world to know she’s powerful. she just is.

the moon has always felt womanly to me-gentle, but powerful. shifting, cyclical, emotional. there’s something maternal in her glow. not mothering in the way the sun blazes down with control, but in the way she just sits with you. quiet, soft, letting you cry and come undone without needing to fix you.

i think part of growing up has been realising that nothing is permanent. not moods, not people, not even the phases of me. but the moon helps me make peace with that. she shows me that change doesn’t have to be chaos, it can be a rhythm. something natural. something sacred. she reminds me that even when i’m not whole, i’m still here. still orbiting. still enough.

the moon is my altar. my reminder that i don’t always need to shine, i just need to stay in orbit.