He was the sun,
you see,
bright and beautiful.
He was warm,
though I never knew
(or will know)
the feel of his touch.
He burned,
an almost pure fire,
shining that the dark around him
fled.
He shone,
though dark of hair
and slim of frame,
he was so bright
I had to reach out to him.
Yet I am water and air,
slipping through cracks
and dipping past the blows.
I might soar up
to touch the sun,
but I will always melt with failure
and tumble away
from what was too good
to ever be mine.
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