I love the way you make me feel.
It’s not always happy; it’s a mixture of joy, hurt, anguish, special,
But genuinely content, irrespective.
I love myself when I’m with you,
Nobody else can bring out that side of me, not even I,
Which should ideally be a cause for concern,
But there’s no room in this heart for regrets and concerns.
You see, your stresses are the only thing worth stressing about,
And that’s only because I feel equally affected.
I love how you keep making me write.
It’s not that you tell me to:
You just have to be you,
And that’s motivating enough to push me to write.
You help me discover myself,
Whether you mean to or not,
And I’m grateful.
Of course, it’s not always smooth sailing,
But nothing in life ever is,
Not even sailing. (Seriously, ask anyone who’s actually tried it.)
But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Since there is no way around suffering in my life,
I may as well pick someone who makes it all worthwhile.
And I pick you.
For however long you can stick around and be there for me.
Of course, by that, I secretly wish for forever,
But nobody has been lucky enough to experience that vast a span of time.
So I decide that time is irrelevant,
I could never measure the enormity of your affection and actions
In a limited time frame.
But say you’ll stay,
For as long as you want to.
And if ever you feel the need to leave,
The only regret I’ll ever have is that I didn’t spend every moment we shared together loving you.