I took a seat on the moon and cuddled with the sun. I put my arms around him gently but he burnt me. I knew he didn't mean to, so I kissed him and burnt my mouth as well. I turned into a bubble then and shunned him away, shunned them all away. I used to love walking with the stars but they kept falling and I don't like falling so we've stopped walking. In my bubble of solitude I grew bored and picked up a book to read; a nice, pleasant fiction novel. But as I turned the pages I discovered that the character was me, the story was mine, and everyone was marveling at the wonderful tale of the powerless hero and the single gift of...what was it...words? Ah, yes, a single charm for metaphor and simile and they all smiled. When the chapter finished and they had clapped and read their last, they put it back, forgetting they were putting me back and here I am, trapped between two book-ends--sun and moon--burning and freezing on my little shelf where anyone can pick me up and drop me. Well I changed my cover. And my title. Won't you like me now? Won't you take me now? In a private rampage during the editing process of history, I tore out the ugly stuff and replaced it all with nice things and the usual uproar of growth. Nothing serious. It's all better now and I'm all better now so we'll be better now. Please don't put me back. I've been burned and I've been dropped and I've been shoved and pushed aside. I prefer the middle because there's always someone to lean on and someone's hand to hold. I'm healing now, just tanning now, and hoping now. Won't you take me, just the way I am? .A please from yesteryear, you ought to have forgetten this but some things never die, some emotions never settle, some words they never leave. But this means nothing to you now, nothing to me now. Not now.