Don’t kill me before I’ve seen the sun.

Don’t slaughter me before I’ve tasted beauty, just once.

I know I’ve missed on so many fronts, and so many times. I’m trying, I promise.

But my hands are shaking and my lungs are heaving and my heart won’t stop beating the way it does after too much time spent in the dark, fluttering against my ribcage like a trapped bird.

I wonder if it knows its owner feels just as trapped.

I’ve only glimpsed the sun from afar.

He was pretty those times. Made me feel like something. I had always been more for personality than looks.

When I wanted to take a stand and venture for myself. When I felt a pull to accomplish something. When I was at my happiest.

I couldn't see him clearly, but I felt him.

His warm presence, I wanted it.  

I reached for him, but you slapped my hand back.

I cannot do it when I am with you.

I cannot see the sun with your possessive shadows obscuring my vision.

I cannot feel his warmth when my senses are overwhelmed with pitch-black agitation, every nerve stimulated, maddened by your oppressive touch.

But, almost unbelievably, 

At times, I do not even know who you are.

You don’t have a name; I cannot recognize you.

Yet, you persist, you pervade, you penetrate.

You change my whole existence.

You model me into being characterized by nervous glances side to side .

You congest my mind with muddled thoughts.

You make me unable to breathe.

And I don’t even know your name.

“If you have to kill me someday,

And if any part of you feels any measure of apologetic towards me,

Please let it be after I’ve seen the sun,”

Is what I would have said before.

But I’m not asking. Not anymore.

It never was a question, really.

I wanted to implore, but now I want to assert.

However, because of you, I know the agonizing pain of being smothered by harsh words hissed into your ear,

So I’ll be benign when I say this:

The next time I taste beauty,

When I reach for a star once more,

If I come by the sun again,

Please do not stop me.