Something about you reminds me of the moon.
But you're constant. When you arrive, you pull me from sleep--and for what? Must we dissect every detail of my prior day to identify what I could've done better? Or shall we start planning how to avoid all future failures? Surely that would satiate you.
Perhaps it's best to reflect on every slight, every instance of pain inflicted on me by someone I thought was a friend. Is that your pleasure? How much more can I stuff into your maw, 3:30AM (if that is your real name) before you will let me go, let me sleep, let me live?
Maybe you'll always be here for me and I should thank you. Is that it? If I could embrace you and tell you how much it means to me that you never let me down, will you be satisfied?
You're not the moon. The moon never asks me to prove myself. The moon loves me even when my nails are jagged and my hair isn't brushed. The moon peeks into my window to remind me that nothing is perfect, so I needn't be.
But not you, 0330. Palindrome of misery.
Is this what you wanted from (my) life? Am I everything you ever hoped for in this world?