A crowded room

Imagine if more than one person loved you at the same time. Imagine then that they met and knew how each felt for you. Would they say the same things about you? Or would one say, “I love her because she flares her nostrils when she’s pretending to be angry but when she’s actually angry she purses her lips”, and the other would say, “I love her because she never gets angry with me, even when I’ve done wrong”. Chances are, beyond describing the inimitable blue of your eyes in the dimly lit corners of whisky bars, they would hardly cross over at all. Love is not in the loved, but in the lover. That is why everyone is loved, because everyone fits the bill of someone’s ideal. It just so happens that you fit more than one.
But what I mean when I say “I love you” is not that I think you perfect, or that I ache to hold you — though both of these are true — it is that in a room of men who love you I know not one of them could say anything I too did not love about you. That is why I am yours and why you should be mine.