You were Moon. They were Mars. Passion, then poof!

You were soft. Receptive. I opened in your presence. You listened without words, felt what I couldn’t explain. Like the Moon, you moved through my moods without resistance, just quiet attunement. And then came Mars—heat, speed, pursuit. A sharp contrast. Where you held, they charged. Where you flowed, they pushed. And I, caught in between, mistook the friction for fate.

There was magic in the beginning. You reflected what I hid. They lit what I hadn’t dared to want. It felt celestial, like something written in the stars. Moon met Mars. Feeling met action. We all played our parts. But cycles reveal truths over time. Mars doesn’t pause. Mars consumes. And the Moon, ever changing, needs space to reflect, to feel.

We collided in our differences. Their desire felt like devotion, at first. But there’s a line between passion and pursuit, between feeling wanted and being overwhelmed. I shifted—waxed, waned—while Mars only knew forward. No room for stillness. No patience for the quiet parts.

Eventually, the tension outweighed the pull. Their flame scorched where it once warmed. Your light grew dim under the glare of their fire. What once felt like a three-beat rhythm—me, you, them—fractured into silence. They left. Or maybe we let them go. The ending wasn’t dramatic. Just a slow recognition that not all connections are built to stretch with time.

Now, I remember them like a meteor—brilliant, fast, and gone. And I remember you like the tide—constant, if distant. The lesson remains in the space between: that some love stories aren’t meant to last, but to illuminate. A brief, intense constellation. A reminder of what burns, and what holds.