Remember when he used to chase the clouds away.
Remember when he told you to relax and just trust him.
Remember when he coaxed, only a few hours more.
Remember when he promised that you were safe in the shade.
Time and again he burned you and yet, you keep returning to him.
Blistered and red-skinned, you initiate the tried and true regimen- aloe and lotion.
Porcelain sheen reduced to peeling pieces; the old you is shed to make way for the new.
You don’t blame him because you knew from the beginning, that’s just who he is.
He is a flaming ball full of hot air. He was the light around which you orbited.
Light-years away, you still feel the radiation.
Friends and family worry over the time you’ve invested. They ask, “Are those cancerous?”
Doctors take precautions, cutting out spots which mark the hours spent basking in his radiance.
According to his calculations, he will live for a millennium- oh yes, you along with him.
He didn’t come with an expiration date, but he prematurely went sour.
Over time your orbit seemed to intersect with his less; one heavenly orb among many.
As you travel further, the world seems colder. Even your shadow disappears so you walk alone.
The climate has changed. Storms intensify and the destruction lingers.
Breezes carry our unsaid reconciliations and rain drops imbue the moment with emotions that he is incapable of.
See, in his world, all is bright. Problems cannot handle the heat so they turn to vapor.
You thought SPF100 would work.
Whenever he was angry, the eruptions were volcanic. Lava spewed miles high and would’ve been awe-inspiring if not so terrifying.
“Don’t get burnt,” they said.
Confidence in your own burn resistance kept you from heeding their wisdom.
They knew something you didn’t.
No one can look at the Sun for too long.