I know you don't see me
I know even if you could, you wouldn't look
But I'll wave goodbye anyway.

You don't realize it,
But I do.
I know a comet when I see one.
I know power when I see it.
You may not have seen her full potential now,
She may have looked weak and dim,
Just a streak and then she's gone,
But you'll see.
When she comes around again
Her light will sear your eyes.
She will burn
Bright and hot.
She isn't a mirage, a fluke in our minds.
She's a powerhouse
And when she returns, she'll be ready
To kindle her flames
And live.

No.
She's not made of glass.
She's not worried about breaking.
She's not delicate.

Stop.
You don't know how she feels.
You don't understand why she doesn't want the spotlight.
You don't get what it's like.

Don't.
She wouldn't want you to talk about this.
She doesn't want them to know.
She won't want you to tell them when you have it all wrong.

Please.
Stop making assumptions.
Stop breaking her trust.
Stop talking for her.

Go.
This isn't what she wants.
This is why she's hesitant.
This is what she's afraid of.

Look closely,
Listen carefully,
But Do. Not. Touch.

They say I'm perfect.
They say they wish they were me.
I scoff in their face.

They don't know my life.
They haven't traversed my mind
or searched through my thoughts.

They know nothing of
what it is like to be me.
They don't get to say

That I am perfect
Any more than I can say
I know their life story.

I don't know your name,
your face,
your smile,
your persona,
your personality.

I've never laughed with you,
talked with you,
or seen you face to face.

But
I know your
wants,
your needs,
your losses,
your loves.
Your whispered secrets,
your dying voice,
your silent screams for help.

I know that I'll always save you,
reach out a hand,
and squeeze you so tight you can hardly breathe.
I'll always listen when you need me,
hurt when you hurt,
worry when you're silent.

You know me not by name,
but we've spoken once or twice.

I consider you a friend, and I hope you consider me one, too.
I just wish I could tell you how much you mean to me.
I wish you would believe me when I say that you are
loved,
wanted,
needed,
known.
Perfect in all of your flaws.

"I want to be just like you,"
I say to the decrepid old man.
"Just like you someday."

His laugh is raspy and thin
"My boy," he manages between his coughs,
"What is there left to desire?"

My giggle is the sound of songbirds
and churchbells ringing.

"Your eyes are bright,
they speak of hope and love.
Your mind is sharp,
full of lessons and wisdom.
Your mouth is tilted,
always curved into a slight smile.
Your wrinkles are deep,
laugh lines from years of use."

"But, my boy," he responds
in a gentle tone,
"My body is weak,
my hair is grey,
my brain forgetful,
and my money is none."

"And yet," I press,
"your gaze is soft,
your regrets are few,
your patience endless,
and your forgiveness infinite."

"And because of that," I conclude, "I want to be just like you."