When a boy and a girl only have eyes for each other, woe to the girl who would break the gaze.  Die-hard romantics, too embarrassed to admit the truth, are hiding a secret thrill that the girl, who stood between the sun and the earth like the moon, has finally moved into another orbit.

Since that crazy day in 2009 when the spell was first broken like glass—or a Caribbean doll’s head, we have watched the boy behave in self-destructive ways, expressing himself in ways perceived as heartless and uncaring.  Brutish.  There were tearful musical performances, performances seeking relief, and angry glass-shattering interviews, also seeking relief.  But relief could not be found. 

There were new tattoos, a disturbing controversial tattoo.  Bad boy behaviors, not like the true boy at all.  But since he can’t make us see, he has given up.  Given us what he thinks we want.  More stunts.  All seemingly resulting in a failure to fulfill the vision of the moon man with the gloved hand.  Or to fill the moon man’s shoes.  So far…

We have watched the girl, shed her clothes, trying to make herself bare, as if the super stardom her life has brought her does not quite reflect the right light. 

From the beginning, there were tearful interviews with one who is most like Glinda the Good Witch (but still a sneaky witch).  And there was the latest interview, with one who is more like the world’s fairy godmother.  The first interview, given from the head, the second from the heart.  We have watched the girl try to move on . . . through dutty, raunchy tweets; to parties on yachts with girls; to other shiny boy stars, only to wipe their glitter from her hands like ordinary dust.  We have watched the girl suffer loss, the loss of a grandmother, this time.  We have seen the girl alone in an Instagram and in an instant have been afraid for her sobriety.  Her sanity.

Then it happened.  A boy and a girl were spotted on a yacht.  And like a mirage on the water, we could hardly believe our eyes.  We had waited for so long.  But we are friends, they said (because they had to, as there was that “moon” floating between them).

So we smiled and said, “It won’t be long.”

Then it really happened (as if it hadn’t already on the yacht, wink, wink).  Within the musical world they belong to, there was a hug, a public kiss that sent chills through some of us.  Thrills through the rest.  And then there was that loving stroke on the boy’s golden head as if long slender fingers were a wand waving the boy home.  Waking him, finally, from a long and never-ending nightmare.

It has been too long, the fingers said, as an old bird called “Idiot!”  Then the boy and the girl, descending upon their rock & roll world, agreed to kiss and kiss again.  And the heat of the sun reached around the moon to shake the earth.

Alas, love was set free.

Only not really.  Silly boy (perhaps just a confused boy, a guilt-ridden boy?) believes he loves both the earth and the moon and that he is indeed the sun in which they all revolve around.  And now, maybe, we think, it is not love at all.  Maybe they should all stop drinking from the MeTube on YouTube.  Maybe the boy and the girl are both narcissistic and they talk, blow smoke, and tweet too much.

“Well,” the boy Chris Brown says, “I watched my stepfather do this to my mother.”  “Well,” the girl Rihanna says, “my father did it to my mother so I can take it too.”  “Well,” the boy Chris Brown says, “she ain’t you, but I sorta like her too.”  “What’s going on?” Karrueche Tran, the moon begs.  “Well,” the girl Rihanna answers, “it’s my bidness, between me and my boo.”

Grudgingly we realize that the moon is right to cast her dull silver light elsewhere.  Bummer.  For her.  And perhaps we die-hard romantics should too.

But not before we share these few words.  If gravity should fail and you break away as friends, no matter what we say, boy and girl you have succeeded in finding closure.  You will have healed the past.  If it ends in violence, that old bird may cry out again.  A million tweets may follow her lead.  And we will guess that there was little growth . . . and that all you are still is just barely a man and a woman who were fools for something like love.  But for believing in and chasing precious, fleeting love—in front of us, I say, you were never idiots.  And wish you well.  Together or apart.