In this rain: we are golden

Ridiculous self doubt, never ending, unwilling to appease, to appear kinder in these dark lights. Your success brings a deadly blow to all that we have been slowly building. The pages written should be burnt. The notes sung should go forever quiet. This is the power you have over us. It seems that feeding off of you is no longer an option. You bloom and we retreat. These times are trying, I have never pretended they were otherwise. We are preparing to celebrate your every success. The clothes we chose, the way we brush our hair a little different, the soap is even new, our bodies smell like spring blossoms, like clean bed linen. All this just for you. Because you asked. Because you love to shine but love to blind even more.

Mostly I am speechless, taken aback by what you are able to create. Then grow sad when my futile efforts are placed next to your magnificent ways. Only in my mind, the truth can never reach daylight, can never breathe to see what I see. There is a whole army of us, talentless fools. There is a swarm of us weeping court jesters, looking into a mirror and seeing our forgetful reflections. The halo, the glory, only you deserve. This gang of bandits, silently hoping to steal that which cannot be stolen from you, ever, is now harmless. What you posses is yours to forever have. What we cannot have, we cannot get through wit or sheer force. This has been and forever will be the most miraculous challenge: to accept our own debilitating limits. To accept my own crippling truth of a talentless existence. Like a spear through a noble heart, stops the beating, starts the overflow of life escaping in rivers of blood.

In the face of such adversary, in the face of facts, there is no chance to fight. No chance to change. For fleeting moments we think we are golden. Then those moments pass and we are back, landed safely, opened our parachutes just at the right time. We are back to being ourselves, our common, forgettable selves. We watch those better than us, those who have been chosen, who have been bestowed with talents ridiculous. May they shine longer, brighter, better. Our greatness lies in not what we are unable to achieve and pass trying, but what we are able to accept and embrace, whose creation we are able to praise and gulp, mould into our souls. And here you have won. I will surrender and point to your masterful ways when asked what I had aimed to say with the words that I had temporarily borrowed. Borrowed they were, never mine, never really mine.

You fly on the backs of beautiful stars. The glitter is real gold on the tips of your fingers, on your strict eyelashes. I bow in amazement, turn to the night to shelter me like always. To allow me to create for me. Even if nobody reads. Even if what I can do, can never be anything remotely as good as what you can do. You are truly golden. I am merely reflecting the light.