the shadow

your shadow
tired
of following you
takes a
seat on the bench
when you stop
in the park,
the leaves
now falling.
the sun low
in the winter sky.
what gives, you
ask, as it slides
and slumps
beside you,
trying hard to
hang on.
i'm tired, the shadow
says. all day
on the ground
being stepped upon,
taking different
shapes, different
forms. curling
hard on a corner
diffused by
the sun through
the trees. it's not
easy being me.
when you wear
a hat, i have to
as well, even if i
don't want it.
everything you do
changes me.
is this what love is?
maybe, you say.
just maybe.