You set my soul at rest.
Not by relaxing any standard,
leaving any stone unturned that I
should consider.
Just... the way you look at me. With
patience, confidence, and that strangely
tender hint of longing.

How can I hope to give myself to you,
when my daily life is such a
weak and constant trouble?
A constancy, a refuge to relax in
- as you are to me -
that's what I want to be.

But. Storms and God above.
That man isn't me.
Not now.

Sometimes I let myself wonder what you and I
would be today,
if I were a better man yesterday.