"Under the Spell of Venus and in the Moonlight"

Tonight, Venus hangs like a secret beneath the moon—bright, insistent, and not quite reachable. The crickets are loud in the dark, the fan hums its cool breath across the room, and I am content. Not ecstatic. Not aching. Just quietly full.

There’s a kind of love that doesn’t need presence. It doesn’t ask for touch or proof. It’s like Venus—distant, luminous, and utterly real. I’ve felt it. I feel it still. And though someone else may lie beside me, it’s not the same. That love—the one of the heart, of the soul—is like loving God. It’s not about possession. It’s about recognition.

I think the boy knows I’m not really here. Not all the way. He’s kind. He’s trying. He's a native New Yorker. But I’m under a different spell tonight. One cast long ago, and still shimmering in the sky.