Shall I?

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate..."

Shall I? At times like this. At times where you are out there living your days to the ultimate fullest, and I rushing my hours to be half of a person you already are?
Rough winds of life can hardly blow down my hopes and dreams to gaze at those tiny universes in your eyes every single day.
Even they told me that I am in dipshit because I fell down the rabbit hole that is someone else's wits, your wits.
Even I can hardly see any of your flows from a far. Unlike any of those choruses.
Maybe I am wrong, so please correct me one day, that you, my dear, have a flaw that only I can understand. Because that flaw is also my flaw.