If it's all without meaning, what does meaning even mean?

The sun is the world's spotlight but I feel the moon is only focusing on me. It's trying to not play favorites but can't seem to help itself. It leaves traces of moon dust on my hands. It smells like tulips and Fall's last rainfall before the turning of snow in winter. I can't help but be grateful but this is hurt. The moon isn't cruel just dreary. He's always around the corner, but never really there.  He's puppeteering me, but I really can't help complying. 

I'm walking on the shattered spikes of my own mistakes. I dig the hole and I'm too frightened to lay in it. I'm on a high,  six feet in the ground. This is a dangerous slope and my hopes are splinters in my brain. I hold onto him dearly. It's a kind of queasy cozy feeling that comes with him. Is it okay to feel this way? Is this normal?

When he is away, I miss the way he talks. The frail moon carries his confidence on his back, and the confidence isn't faux, it's pure and unbridled. It's not fake like mine. He thinks he's the sh*t and he is, and it's like first nature to him.  He isn't flustered or ashamed. The moon doesn't pretend to be more than he is.

My big plan is to be launched in his orbit. I've been stuck with the gravity and the trash of this planet. It's one thing to dream. To make it. I'd be his space trash.

I feel blind. Cut off. Scared. Living only in the moon's loneliness. I feel proud, but trapped. It's the kind of thing you want to love but it's impossible. You want to feel good in the sun, but you can't. You think the moon is different, but is it really? The moon is lit up by the sun, you think, is it any different?

It's worry. It's worry. Am I stuck? 
It's worry, but is it enough?
To leave. Is it enough, is it ever?

His fingers dance in a way that makes me desperate. I want his hands and mine. I want to waltz in the starry sky. To our favorite songs. Till we fall dead. And we jokingly flirt and it doesn't go anywhere like it always does. It's comfort, really, its comfort, me and you. We do things over and over again waiting for a different result. We spin, we dance, we (almost) kiss, and we fall apart.

Are we damned, sweet moon?
Are we damned?
Are we cursed to be apart?
Or are we blessed? 

Is living "without" you secretly lucky? Is me missing out, on this romance, meant to be? I am not supposed to fall in love with you? In this universe, are my feelings a glitch in the system? I feel like a broken bone, I'm snapped in half. Divided in the middle. If I wasn't meant to love you. What am I?