“It’s a woeful story, isn’t it? “ she said, her eyes fixed on the infant sun peaking from the east. ” I always feel sad at sunrise” she tells him, “the moon gives all her love, slowly losing herself as she keeps earth company during the darkest times. In the end though, she leaves when she doesn’t feel needed anymore.” He just chuckled and told her, “That’s not right you know. The moon doesn’t actually leave. The sun just arrives. I’m sure poets would find a more woeful story where the sun comes off better.” He shook his head and looked at the orange horizon. “But I personally find it amazing that brighter light can overshadow a dim one.” She smiles, ” maybe it’s to show that there is a better love?” He smiled back and asked, ” Is it because the sun is a better lover or because it is better to love the sun?”