What you became.
He reminds me of October. The chilly breeze prickling in my skin, landing on the uncovered ones. And the leaves shaking as the winter wind rustled past it.
I like to think that you are the wind. The wind that brushed me and affected my being but a feeling that fleets away quickly, too fast—you won’t even notice. But rather, you became the light that I came looking for at night, the one who made me see the goodness of all it; the one that gave me hope to look forward to the day ahead and forget the darkness of the past. Then, I became the small dust, the irritating speck you want to blow away from your eyes, the single debris in thousands of them. As you scatter your rays upon me, I am not blinded, but rather enlightened that someday, you’ll see me not as another spilth but as a special flick in the wind you’ll never want to get rid of.