We live in a cynical world

of tough competitors.

You are like a daisy in a field of daffodiles to me,

basking in the sunset,

hoping to reignite your youth again.

I would leap and fall,

just to reach your ledge at all.

But I think I’ll send her a star,

so she may reminisce from afar,

and be reminded that she’s never alone,

even if she likes to think so.

Because there’s a star out there that understands her troubles,

and so glimmers with hope if she cannot afford it,

lights the tunnels if she cannot see it,

and believes in her if she has but been strained of it all.

(This is my gift. Goodbye, daisy).

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I am not the author of this beautiful piece. It was written for me by one of the most important people in my life, as a parting gift. I’ve been carrying it with me for nearly a year now, and it feels selfish to tuck it away for myself. And to the author, thank you. Your glowing words have given me comfort at times when I needed it the most.