I am many things, none of which are seemingly significant in any sort of the manner. However, everything that I am, I can assure you, you are not.
I am the orange sun blazing bright in the morning sky, clouded by last nights storm. You are the rain, the torrential downpour and encore of rain, cold and dark and inhumane.
I am the tulip rejoicing for spring, pushing my way up through the earth, my pedals the crown of a king. You are the dirt, the godforsaken dirt, suffocating and undulating the cause of my aching pain. I am an old song, the melodious symphony of all notes played wrong.
And yet as broken heart strings bled the blues, I reached into the sky and handed every star to you.