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.