"You're such a ditz"*
My friends say
When I stop what I'm saying
To admire the last rosy kiss
Of the sunset
As it waves a lonesome goodbye
To its lovers.

"She lacks focus"
My parents say to eachother
In undertones I've heard coming so often
From the front seat.
I roll my eyes
At their attempt at secrecy
And turn my gaze back to the golden farms
Running beside our tires.

"You're very thoughtful,
Never stop appreciating the beauty of the earth"
My great grandmother says
Patting my hand with an understanding
I don't see often
Because she
Is one of the few.