Some mornings we make breakfast,
some mornings we make love and
some mornings make no sound, they just
slip by unnoticed while we make what we can
out of what we have — not much, but enough.
Some days, this world gets too much
and I want to cry out for you but I don’t dare
seek you because you’re already too much
for me, and even when you’re all I want
you’re not my everything — but you are enough.
You can never be my everything;
I won’t let you be my everything,
but if everything else was taken away,
I’d be okay, if you were all that remained —
if you were all I had, you’d be enough.
(See also: Still enough)