if i'm being honest,
i think i might be a shell.
he is sun and i am earth:
though he is bright, he is far.
at a distance, i am kept in his orbit.
if i'm being honest,
i wish i could be like him—
steadfast and certain.
as sure as he rises each morning,
each night he sets;
and so i look to him.
but the more i wish i could be like him,
the more i minimize the parts of me
that are not like him and are of me:
a polarizing divide between
all that i am trying to become for him
and all that i want to be for me.
and if i'm being honest,
i'm scared that at the end of my life,
all that'll be left of me,
is him and the shell of me.
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