I was a flower and you were the sun.
I remember the beginning, when I was just a sapling, dug deep in a shield of dead leaves and dirt. I trembled there, until the fleeting rays of sunshine, of you, came along.
My roots curled in the dirt and my leaves perked up, ready to embrace the small rays that seemed to wrap me in surprisingly welcoming arms.
When we embraced, I could have swore I was the sun,because my petals and leaves matched the brilliance of your light as I swelled with new life.
I danced under you for a while, the days passing on. Your rays would tell me stories and my cheery, golden petals would make you laugh.
Your sunshine made me swell and my roots would quiver whenever your light touched me.
But then, the clouds began to show, and it would just rain. I wouldn’t see you, but I drank the water, feeling revitalized.
But I missed your warmth.
The next day was cloudy too. I could feel my leaves slowly wilting, missing you, your rays.
And finally the clouds broke just slightly and a few mere drops of gold touched the landscape.
Except the warmth didn’t touch me. It touched a garden mere feet away. I could see the other flowers swell in the light I once swelled in, and what once was just days without you became what felt like weeks, and then months.
Even when your light did finally touch me, it was muddled and altered. Different. It didn’t revitalize my petals like it used to…you were just ready to pass on to the next garden, as you moved in the atmosphere throughout the day.
I wasn’t in your mornings or afternoons anymore – I was that tiny sapling again. The one covered in dirt and dead leaves. Except the dead leaves around me were my own. My once glowing petals, brown and weeping.
Others hide in the dirt next to me now, ones that were once touched by your sunlight alongside me.
As I wilt in my aloneness, loving and hating your warmth I used to feel, I remind myself to not be blinded by the sunlight.
Any sunlight. Not just yours.
Because at anytime.
Morning or Afternoon.
The clouds can and will come.
The sun may not come up the next day.
So I must learn to shine on my own – and I’m not sorry.
Hi friend. <3 This was a lovely poem and I pondered it during work today. I love the way you paint scenes and elicit emotions with your words. 🙂
What I interpret is that the narrator had a fantastic connection and exchange with the sun (another being) that seemed to fulfill one of their basic needs. It was a good exchange until the sun (other person) wasn't there anymore because of the clouds. When the sun came back, they didn't present to narrator with the depth of warmth they had given originally…it was limited, not as strong, and sparingly given and the narrator doesn't know what changed. The narrator misses the warmth that person could provide but decides that they can't dwell on that and in order to survive, turns towards unapologetically giving of themselves and that light to warm others.
My favorite line is: "As I wilt in my aloneness, loving and hating your warmth I used to feel, I remind myself to not be blinded by the sunlight."
You’re exactly right. <3 Thank you for your comment, friend.