And I am afraid.
I am afraid that someday she will be so close that she'll touch me.
And when she does,
she won't be able to take it.
The thunder and storms
with short bursts of sunny days.
Of tears and laughter.
That is what I am made of.
My skin is ashes and water.
I am nothing but a collection of paradoxes.
And I am afraid she won't understand.