Why.

You are a fine painting detailed and delicate, I am a splash of paint on a sidewalk, deemed art work, yet you have thousands of admirers and I have few, you are the desired forbidden fruit and I am simply the rotted apple. You are compared to a fine wine, better with age, I am compared to an out of date piece of fashion, less appealing with age, vintage is nothing compared to your clear, priceless appearance, you are the dawn, the beginning of the new day I am simply one of the reflections from the suns last rays. You, you are my dream; I am the reality so why can't you dream of me?

© Chloe Motley King