But you always manage to find me a million more. In the passages I read, through the plots you carry, between the shelves of my favorite bookstore.
There’s a bit of you in every room of my house, perhaps to remind me to pick you up whenever I’m happy, angry, sad or sore.
Because you don’t complain, you don’t demand, you don’t judge or wash me ashore.
You’re the reason for the pink in my cheeks,
for the shine in my eyes, for my not-so-subtle rebellious streaks.
When I’m confused and lost and wandering downcast, you help me separate the grain from the chaff,
You make me smile, you effortlessly push me to throw my head back and laugh.
You help me deal with heartbreaks in style,
You make my mundane Monday mornings worthwhile,
You’re funny, caring, understanding and intense,
You help me heal, you help me mend, you’re my strength, with you there’s absolutely no pretence.
You’re my first love and you will probably be the last,
For you don’t care about who I am, or what I was,
You don’t think I’m a disappointment, a letdown,
You don’t give up on me, you always remember to stick around,
You hold me steady when everything else turns askew,
There’s nowhere in the world that I would rather be, without you.