Not Simple Enough Poem by Luce Darwin

I curse time and
it's ways of unraveling
all securities and givens
of times of late.
Crying for the dead suns
of past solar systems and
for the first time
I questioned whether you
saw me favorably,
or as some scapegoat
for your dull evenings.
And maybe you once
tried to forget me,
but I, seeing my love
as being self fulfilling,
couldn't see the problem
in approaching you again.
I worry that there is
hardly time left to
enjoy our youthful, feeble
bodies with one another.
I know that you will also
grow older through the
years as I will,
but I cannot make
myself believe that you will
be anything but young
and sure of step.
Though I fear you may not
see me as worthy enough
to invest your years of youth,
I also fear I will not
ever be quite worthy of
your youth.
I am much too young,
but at the same moment
I am much older than the
few years I have lived.
Time seems only able
to tell sad stories,
and make people like
me.