Growing up, I was often told I am like the sun.
I'm sure they meant it as a compliment,
but people often forget how alone the sun can be.
My sister, the moon, is surrounded by love.
The ocean, the stars, the people who look upon her every night and say
"wow, she's beautiful!" and chart her every phase.
Even if she struggles to see it, she is beloved, and seen,
but the sun can't be stared at for too long,
or she'll burn your eyes, and rot your skin.
I always thought the sun felt lonely,
but maybe the lonely one has always been me,
and I just hold the sun in my heart to fill the empty feelings.
Somehow, though, you came to me,
unafraid to look right at me,
not content to leave me gravitating in the background.
You took the sun in my heart and held it in your hand,
and even now, when it shines brighter than ever, you hold it gently.
I can feel my sun exploding with energy, solar flares beaming out endlessly,
I'm worried it will hurt you, or scare you away,
but you're still here, somehow, even as my heart erupts and radiation pours out of me.
My sister is easier to love. I wouldn't blame you if you went to her instead.
Right now though, I feel grateful that you're here with me, even as I burn far too bright.