Her love was a crescent moon, forever waning until nothing remained to illuminate the darkness that clung, always waiting, around the edges. She loved him precisely because his eyes looked through her, coldly, indifferently, without even being aware that her crescent heart burst yearning only for him. She loved him precisely because he didn’t love her. Until one dark winter morning, for no particular reason, his eyes turned and suddenly saw her. She stood gripping her crescent heart, quivering in anticipation of the coming rejection that would set her glowing miserably. He smiled. All the lights went out.