I don’t know how to be anyone but me.
The way you love me sends me to my own private place within. Contemplating how someone like you could love someone like me.
I’m afraid to reach beyond what is on the surface and take what you claim is real. I’m afraid that the love I give you in return will not be enough…that I am not enough.
I feel your works of love to the core of everything I am and everything I hope to be.
But I give so little and receive so much.
Your words to me are like art never the same this day after the next, but beautiful, expressive, and alive.
You have told me time again, that my love is enough. That it is your God-given gift. My love? Wow.
You have told me again and again, that my love however doubting, however afraid, however wounded is all you need.
I still feel that I fall short. (no pun intended) I feel that with the way you express your love for me, to me, you deserve a mountain of love, nothing less.
I strive to be present in this love, always vigilant with the heart you have given to me. I want to love you this day and the next because my love is the least of what you deserve. Even if you feel it is the most.