In this fictional world she lived in, I was
a lonely ice cube in her Long Island ice tea.
She was a passing snowstorm
and I a simple snowflake.
She was a hurricane
and I a gentle gust of wind.
She would shout and I would whisper.
She would bawl and I would shed
maybe one tear, one tear too many
and she could talk a mile a minute
and I could sometimes
speak no words at all.
She was the Blair to my Serena,
the Thelma to my Louise,
the Monica to my Rachel.
Except I loved her with everything,
everything I ever had. But all I ever was
was a twinkling star in her entire galaxy.
Just a little crater on her