I am the sun. Bright, wild, passionate–
everything you’d think you’re looking for. Then you realize I’m not.
People come to me, sometimes. They take what they want, my energy, my light, just so they can get a tan. But no one stays for too long.
Nobody really seeks me out. No one looks at me for more than a couple of seconds. No one wants too much of me. No one wants to try for risk of getting sunburnt.
Other times, most of it, everyone’s too busy working, doing routine, living their lives, to actually stop and notice me. Busy. Busy, busy. Everyone’s too busy around me. They can’t wait until the day is over.
The best part of me is the end – the sunset. Or the sunrise.
I am made up of reality. No one wants to get to know me. Because reality, life in daylight, the truth, is far too harsh.
She –
she is the night sky. The moon, the stars, and the infiniteness of life. Memories are born, epic and great, under her crescent smile. She is made up of romance and magic. She is made up of dreams.
People seek her out. Plan travels, schedule to pause their entire lives just to look at her. And it’s not even a glimpse. Everyone stays up for hours, sometimes the entire night, just to spend time with her.
We’re all attracted to her. Drawn to her good vibes and endless possibilities. She is when we nestle safely inside a lover’s arms, party all our cares away, or make bonfires to skinny dip with friends for the first time.
There is nothing dangerous about her. Whether it’s the city skyline or nature’s aurora – everybody is in love. She is soft, alluring. Van Gogh painted a masterpiece about her.
She is boundless. She is perfect. She is beautiful.
I pale in comparison.
seafoam*
musicure
ππ«πππ»ππΈππΌπππΆππΎππ*
justkiddiing
crimson24
dontsellyourselfshort