What do you mean to me?
It is a simple question,
that no one can answer,
properly,
at least.
What do you mean to me?
You are the sun,
a far away being,
of power,
and warmth.
You are a song
that I sing,
whenever I feel
like I'm worth something.
You are the vows
that I write,
when there is a promise,
and that promise is to love someone,
forever,
and always,
until the day I die.
You are the sky,
the moon,
the vast and endless array of stars,
the emptiness of the space between them,
and my love.
Yet when the question appears,
"What do I mean to you?"
I can do nothing,
but smile,
and say,
"Everything."
Yet that is, and always will be
the incorrect answer.
It is too vague,
yet too specific.
Too broad,
but too narrow.
What do you mean to me?
You mean the world,
my love,
my life,
my endless affection,
my burning desire,
my dying flame,
that is everything,
and everyone,
I stand for.
"Everything"
is too much,
yet not enough.
My endless love is unspeakable,
no words have the right meaning.
Shakespeare himself
couldn't put it into words.
The world,
the universe,
my soul.
If they were mine to give,
they are yours to take.
Yet it is not.
I can no easily give you
the stars from the sky,
as I could my soul.
It would be easier
to reach out,
and take the waves from the ocean,
the light from fireflies,
the horizon that separates the earth from the sky,
the colour of the world,
than it would be to give you
the love from my heart.
I love you,
and the question
"What do you mean to me"
is both
too much to ask,
and too little to question.
YOU ARE READING
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