The Problem & Solution

I am a jumbled mess of florals, plaids, and stripes.
You are a palette made up entirely of solid colors and witty slogans.

I am the slow, steady hum of meaningful words and gentle background melodies.
You are the bass-heavy, fast-paced noise that old Army men hate.

I am an ever-present faint shade of pink, gradually growing red as the situation turns from bad to worse.
You are “the man”, the almighty, the cock of the walk.

I am clean, desperately innocent, not the faintest hint of sin graces this virgin skin.
You are the boy every mother warns their honor-roll daughter about.

I am a whirlwind of emotions and feelings and mood swings.
You are the hurricane and then the eye of the storm.

I am a sand castle, used only for entertainment purposes, and so, so breakable.
You are a concrete building, containing endless sharp corners and cold walls: permanent.

I am a rough outline, a quick sketch of a fleeting image, drawn to be smudged and forgotten.
You are the sharpest of sharp: a photograph, a stillshot of something beautiful, something to be held onto forever.

I am words, endless words, written and typed and engraved and scratched onto every surface.
You are a dream, never-ending, all things incredible and awful.

I am made of cotton: soft, unchanging, durable.
You are made up entirely of wood: hard, solid, unbreakable.

I am a stained glass window pane, a portion of something all together beautiful, but only in the right light.
You are the foundation; sturdy, forever sturdy, the base, holding everything, all of me, together.

I am the problem.
You are my solution.

I am useless, hopeless, some sort of lost cause.
You are what I want. What I need.