I am a Street Lamp.

I am the street lamp outside your house. I am always there, present for you, especially in your darkest moments.  I am a witness to the night you got your first kiss (you stood under my light), the night you crept out of the house to attend a party (you did your best to avoid my illumination), the night you ran out in terror because your little brother was missing (you cried and cried and cried under the blaze of my lightbulb until he came back).  I am a witness to the first time you learned how to ride a bike(you hit my post), the time you lost your phone (you thought you had dropped it beside me), the time you first moved in here with your family (you all took a picture in front of the house, and I was in the background).

I am the street lamp outside your house.  I listen to you and I hear your stories when you speak, and you talk about how much you love camping and nature and and sunsets and trees and music and friends and people and math and basketball and summer.  I listen to you and I now know how to detect the pain in your voice, the tiredness in your eyes, the satisfaction in your smile.  

I am a street lamp. I am a bright presence in your life, but I am not the radiant sun you love so much or the sparkling stars you just adore to sleep under or the magnificent moon with its luminesence that you say is just amazing.  In your eyes I am nothing more than a street lamp, fake and synthetic and a presence you find uninteresting, unadventurous, unbecoming, unphenomenal. Nothing more than something in the background. I want to be what you want, so badly, your sun and your moon and your stars, but I do not know how.