Maybe you will tell me that you think I am "the one",
and say beautiful things like "you are the sun",
that I scatter prisms of light in your every direction
And that all you are is a gleaming mirror
reflecting all of my light, but only in boring halves
of all your phases, much like the moon.
But I will remind you how distant and cold I get,
only half here and the other half hidden.
You will reach for my hand and I will pull away from you
and tell you that you've mistaken me for something else,
That the light you thought you were reflecting
was just you watching cinematic reels of yourself
burning up as a flame on an infinite timeline,
only visible through my eyes.
I think you are the sun, walking around with half a brain.