She loved him.

And she loved him like the sun.

She warmed him when he was cold and she fed him. She kept him alive and well and happy. She brightened his life. He never saw her but she kept going. She was equal when she was down. She was equal to him only when she was below herself, so she did so. She kept herself below for him. She let him enjoy the moon, the moon who only glowed because or her beautiful light, but she let him enjoy the moon. She went away, she pleased the others. The opposite of him. She became their day as she left him to his night. She rose again to please and he watched her with awe, but looked away when she became too much. She thought, perhaps, that she was too much. He loved her, he did. He watched her, though only when he thought her to be beautiful. Only when she was lesser, but he did. He watched. So she became lesser. She died, and he watched. She became bright, though not too bright, and as she was dying he looked at her. He saw her for her downfall. She became beautiful colours that he could bear from his place far away, and he watched. And maybe, maybe she shouldn't have. She thought, maybe she was too much for him because she was meant for more, but she was gone now. She had gotten what she wanted. She had died for it, sure, but he had watched.