ode to a penguin

It’s been a long time since we’ve met, you and i. I can smell your perfume on the lilies you bought me still. Its funny, how the lilies smell of musky sensuality. You always left your mark, wherever you went. I thought it was selfish at first, your omnipresence, I felt pushed into the shadows. It scared me to be around you. But over time I learnt. I learnt to appreciate your passion, your will, your perfection in everything you did. Suddenly I was okay with bathing in the fading glory of your spotlight.
I thought, when you left, I would be lost. There would be no bright light guiding me through. No bright light I could live on the edge of. I thought I was a part of your bright light forever. I felt uneasy being around other people without you, scared that I would not be able to hold my own alone. Terrified that people would see how plain I was without your hazy shine on my face.
Everyone loved you, I remember. Everyone loved you just a little with their hearts. You were them, and I was you and because of that, sometimes, just sometimes I could be them. I could connect with another. Without you. But you were always there weren’t you. There was a hint of you in every conversation, a smile at the sound of your voice and your coldly comforting presence.
I miss you, at times.
I wonder if you miss me as well. I was special, for you, that I remember. I could listen to you talk for hours on end and I could stimulate you just enough to keep you talking. And we basked in that, you and i. we basked in you. And sometimes, we basked in me. I was special, for you, that I remember. But I was an old shoe. I was the person you slept with when winter came and the wild orchids dried. I kept you warm, and safe. And you had a home. But no one ever comes back to their home. Everyone wants strange lands to run through, strange people to share dried leaves and intimate conversations with.
And so I meander, I live without you but somehow always within you. I exist, I know I do because I pinch myself sometimes and it hurts. But I feel directionless, without your free reproaches and your odd broken love. I slip through days, unnoticed. The days and I, we’re hollow. The days and I, we shimmer in and out of subsistence. The days and I, we’re unbound. And sometimes, we can’t live with ourselves. Because, it’s easy really, we cannot be ourselves without you.