like a lightbulb in a darkened room

You're like the snow, beautiful and cold. And I'm like the flowers, only pretty in the spring. It's rare when we're both in sync. In fact, it never really happens. No matter how hard we try, it just cannot happen. Because I need the warm sun and the morning dew, and you need the bitter cold and the stale ground. You thrive on the things that wither me, and I thrive on the things that melt you. It just isn't meant to be. We're simply too different, as much as I tried not to be. I just can't survive in the winter, and you wouldn't last a day in my kind of sun. But we can still enjoy the memory, and the fact that we look up at the same sky and sometimes inhabit the same yard. Sometimes you'll even blanket me, even if only for a day. And maybe someday, in some place, we won't be snow and flowers. Maybe we'll be the lake and the sand. You'll cover most of me, letting me play hide and seek on the shore. Or maybe we'll be the moon and the stars and light up the darkness, then fade away and hide out, alone and together. Or maybe you'll stay the snow. And I'll stay the flowers. And we'll never meet. Won't ever get the chance to get it right. But for now, there's nothing I can do. No weather miracles I can perform. But I can still hope, still dream.