I flounce, you plod. You reach the crest
while I have chosen to stop and rest.
From far below, I scan the skies.
dreaming, as you supervise.
You are inflexible and frigid,
I the opposite of rigid.
As I wander here and there,
you search for me and tear your hair.
What tantrums over my transgressions
must be prompted by my digressions.
Comparable to day and night,
you are the darkness to my light.
This, dear, is the dichotomy—
the chasm between you and me.