It would be so easy to compare you to such grandiosity, to things of such majesty and defend it with ferocity. I could say you're an eighth wonder of the world, a marvelous curiosity, defying explanation, full of reciprocity.

I could say you are the sun lighting up the dark, creating warmth where once emptiness was stark. I could say you are much needed rain in an ever ongoing drought, satiating my need for life when my time's nearly run out.

And all these would be true, you see, they'd be apropros of you, not a single exaggeration spoken, so many more I could accrue. Accurate analogies, descriptive through and through, but it's the smaller spots of beauty that you should be compared to.

Sure you are the sun, and sure you are the rain, but you're also early morning light peaking through the blinds, you are runway fashion full of bold designs, you are quiet Sunday mornings in which peace can be attained, you are a symphonic melody with beautiful refrains.

Because it's easy to compare you to such celestial splendor, to give in to such cliches, an obvious surrender, because yes you are like stars and moons but also like a quiet drive, just the two of us together, in which the silence, full of love, can carry us forever.

The less noticed quiet beauties, these are what I see, you're a flower garden, colors gleam so vividly, but no matter what comparison I could ever make you out to be, there's no real competition for just who you are to me.