And when I drive against you, your burning desire is painfully rested on my chest. I pull down the visor, but I am too short for it to shade even my eyes, so I squint as I try to look past you, pretending as if it doesn't bother me.
Your shine and rays are beautiful, but so much has become cancerous. Overzealous warmth has become irritating and discomforting.
When I begged for rain and clouds, I received. But like the California sun, clouds and rain don't last very long. And no matter which way I travel, your seeking admiration and desperation will always find me. I can only beg for shade, but please, don't make me beg.
