"I can't trust the light"

It reads like something lame you wrote in grade five. Like the first time you tried to prove that you were intelligent, or that you at least understood symbolism, or maybe you probably didn't even want to write it. Literally it means that it keeps burning my exposed skin even after layers of sunscreen have been applied, and after employees keep assuring everything will be okay (at least after the sunscreen is lathered on.) And the only symbolism would be equally lame and expected: that I can't trust happiness because it comes with a sensitivity ...yet quite literally, to sunlight. Thus, the two have somehow combined. The literal and figurative. Like when I told you father's day didn't exist this year but gave you a figurative reason as to why it didn't-because it was a figment -because I thought I knew, but it turns out even I was wrong.And like how everytime someone says "I love you" I don't actually hear it, not because they didn't say it but because I can't ever believe it in any literal sense-so I get all overheated and flakey like a sunburn
Today? sunburned. but because a side-effect, not because who I am had anything to do with it. I can't trust the light, and I can't always anticipate its burning effects, because I've never known it to be anything real. And maybe I should have just moved across the country like she did. But even then I probably couldn't trust it, it's not as though she ever properly explained it-and I'm burning myself here to find where symbolism ends and literally caring about all this damaged skin begins.