My life is not your life.
My dreams are not your dreams.
My roses are not your red; my violets are not your blue.
Though we may intersect, converge, overlap
Though we may instantly agree on a great many things
I am not you.
You are not me. Nor do I want you to be.
Your laughs, your tears, your triumphs and despairs
These are yours to savor and share
To hide if you wish them hidden
To display in besplendored regalia
To tease out one sly smile at a time.
You can be only you.
I can be only me.
If we were the same
What a boring world it’d be.