I, I’m the sun—the bright one and the hero of life. Like all stars, I burn inside and I burn alive and I burn to death. Yet, everyone seemed to want my warmth, my light, my way of life without realizing the pain and torture that has to come with all that. Some people claim my life is beautiful only because it isn’t theirs; they don’t even know a single thing about it.
As I move behind things, landscapes, trees, structures…anything…these things lose their color. My own light reduces them into dull back lighted silhouettes and they’ve always hated me for that. And I’ve always resented the fact that when I’m nearest to the things I love most, I could only make them see the worst in them. Now what’s so cool in that? Who wants my life, I’d give it away.
No one knows that I have to be far from things so that they could have their colors. While all of them create together picture-perfect scenes, I am halfway across the sky, burning alone just so their colors would be vivid.
Things are most beautiful when I am away while I can only look beautiful when I’m behind things making them look dark. That’s the fact of my life. Who wants that? I’d give that away.
I'm tired.
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