Hello, little sun. Allow me to speak to you through written words instead of spoken ones, because you’re too bright that it blinds me sometimes. My eyes are trained to witness dark dreary stuffs, not used to see a blazing one right in the buff. But here it goes, baby: don’t be too nice to me, it makes me weak and peachy. You make me believe for one second that hey, maybe this world is not so bad, maybe life doesn’t have to be this hard, and maybe I can finally enjoy life without tiptoeing on bloody glass shards. But I knew better; it never works like that
Hey, sunrise, let me tell you the meaning of my name. It is “Knowledge” and “The Eternal Flower”. You would expect me to be a kind of gracious, delicate person who can answer all your questions about anything in this life, afterlife and beyond. But there are some days when the only knowledge I can recall is the tragic fact that I love you, and the only flower I could ever be is the woeful Sunflower, who can only stare at and follow the sun’s flare, who tries its damn best to rise higher, yearning to touch the gleaming sun. But this is how it ends: the sun will always be there, staying within sight, generously emitting warmth, but forever unreachable.
I’m not into pain, handsome, but if it’s all you’re willing to give me, then I’ll take it. Don’t you worry about me because I can handle the heat. Just do your thing and burn, baby. Burn, burn, burn as bright as you want, as hot as you can be. Don’t hold back, because you know I’ll gladly bask in your blaze and wear the burn with pride. I’ll bare my burnt skin, shouting from the highest point of the earth that hey, fuckers, I have been touched by the sun. And the God itself shall envy me.