you. 

you're a golden boy 

born to shine in the sun, 

but cast to the dark of night,

drenched in moonlight. 

you change like the times when you see me, 

my hands curl around the flimsy plastic folds of my shopping bag 

as I walk home through streets tight and winding. 

it is a sunny morning, 

crisp and clear, 

and magic. 

the mornings are misty, 

cold and dark. 

my head hurts as I haul myself out of bed, 

put on clothes that clearly don't go well together, 

and set off through the fog of dawn.