I remembered the moon.

I remember the moon's glow at dawn, light so pure with a hint of blinding, did I mistook it as the sun. Unbeknownst upon the dark canvas, little burst of stars suddenly appeared, painting towards the horizon, a familiar warmth of morn. I glanced the direction opposite, fearing treachery fall on hard stone, when yesterday's eyes met, a moment perfect for spring, did the minute pass, and her sun shown.