I'm jealous of the sun

His eyes are dark green. Not like emeralds, but like a cloudy sky during a thunderstorm. But when warmth blooms, and the golden season comes, his eyes become watercolored crystals. Baby blue fading into turquoise. He has freckles. Lots of freckles. They're my favorite thing about his face. Each freckle is like a soft graze from the sun. A hug, a kiss, a mark, a sign of presence. And that's why I'm jealous of the sun. Because it gets to hold him. To see him. To hug him. To kiss him. To bring him happiness and comfort. To be the essence of his smile. I wish I was the sun. I wish I could do all that. I wish I was the one making his eyes sparkle from grey to teal. I wish I could make his face glow, with a golden bliss of love and admiration. It burns my heart to know I can't be his sun yet, so I'm trying my best to be his moon. But what if there's a chance he doesn't want me to be either one?