You tell me that you love me.
And I believe you.
But you only love me
As much as you have to.
You only love me
As much as is expected of you.

Sometimes I am jealous
Of my own love for you.
I wonder what it must be like
To be loved that much.
To have someone willing
To not only die for you
But to live for you.

I wish I could love you less.
I wish our love could be equal.
But instead your lack of love for me
Is matched by my undying love for you.
There is no balance between us,
Only one parched and dry
And the other overflowing with love.