I watch you

spreading your wings

thin as glass in the morning sun, and twice as glistening.

How comes you are my friend?

You are so pretty

so perfect

so fragile

the most beautiful butterfly.

So why choose me,

a little moth,

not pretty enough to be seen in the daylight?

The others ask

if it bothers me

to be the second one

to be seen next to you

because your colours make my dull grey

even uglier.

But

i'm okay with being friends with a

butterfly.

I don't mind being

the moth,

as long as you are okay with being

my light.