Dudurudh

You are the sunflower. And the sun. And the water. And the vase. And the window by which i sit and look at the world and see things only you could show. 

How lovely then, that by some miracle now,
and despite the admonitions of cranky old ladies,
i can hold up an umbrella when its barely drizzling so we can sing and dance and laugh and talk and be the sunflower and the sun and the water and the vase in the world outside the window 
by which i sit and look at the world you built and filled, by some miracle, with little else than love and lovers and lovables.

And it was only when i looked in the mirror and saw a time when all i saw in the window was my own reflection and the distant city lights in a town where nothing means anything that the miracle is you and the sunflowers were for me and now finally, i can breathe again.