My days are not exceptional
I get up, I eat, I breathe
And I go back to sleep.
I am simple.
I'm colored in gray.
She is the sun,
A brilliant, bright yellow.
Her face has color.
In her eyes,
There is light.
She is young.
But I
Am not.
We share our years
In number alone.
Because my bones
Are heavy with time.
She is the moon.
She pulls,
And I will follow
As she commands.
Burning brightly as fire,
I am ensnared
By her haughty gaze.
I will share with her the beauty
Of the world around us.
Once she emerges
From her personal bubble,
From her small
World of self.
With age comes patience.
I can wait.
