Dear Past Sunshine,
I find it true that the ones who are the happiest are crumbling buildings inside.
Wipe those wistful tears from your soaked cheeks,
Let no rivers grace your face like a stream entering the ocean.
Your peers will share your grief,
But they are not your dam.

When those delicately penned and ink-filled papers are placed into your welcoming hands,
Cherish them,
Love them,
Yet don't use their quantity to measure your worth.

For no scale could ever calculate the weight of your soul,
No sapient can fully realize your boundless potential,
No mortal eyes can see the richness of your image.

Time,
It takes time.

Though today it may seem sparse,
As others casually grasp infinite letters,
Clutched carefree in their hands,
Tomorrow is a different scene.

When the spotlight casts its blinding light upon your singular presence,
Standing steadfast atop that stage,
Erect like a magnificent statue,
Where your peers are not standing with you at this particular moment in life.
But are watching on from the crowd, As their friend showcases his own artistry.

You will see how far your energy has spread to countless hearts,
That echo your name and your name only.
You shall bear witness to the love that was not penned but shouted from voices everywhere, even above.
For you, dear soul, are the embodiment of greatness.
Sincerely yours, in unwavering belief.
© Myth