You.

You're flawed, yet you're perfection.

You're a flower, yet you're strong.

You're the sky, yet you fly past the stars.

You're the sun, yet your spirit doesn't burn (and even if it does, you're still bright).

You're beautiful, even when no one sees it.

"The sun, of course, will keep on being beautiful, even if no one bothers to look at it."

You hesitate, but you still help.

You try, whether or not you know the outcome.

You're here, aren't you? Even knowing you'll die of old age one day, or of an accident or a natural cause.

You're loving someone, whether it be yourself or someone else.

You're human, even when you're on top of the world, you're human, and that's wonderful.

You may be mean to some people, but you're nice to someone else.

You may take in pain, but at least you let it back out.

You grow tall, even when you feel short.

Understand, my love, that you are so much more than what meets the eye, than what the galaxy knows, than what your potential shows, than how much you glow.

You are the universe - defying physics and logic. Beautiful in your own way, everything you do and don't want to be. You know yourself and you create yourself. You are war, and you are peace. You are everything and anything, you are you. You and only you.