I gave you  
half-full cups—  
to you, overflowing.  

I gave you  
measured warmth.  
Wrapped it in pretty,  
promised it was real.  

I called you  
gentle  
so I could become it.  

You brought me morning,  
the good kind,
and time I didn't earn.

You gave me home,
a stillness,
and hands that didn't ask.

I brought you mirrors.  
You stayed.  
I flinched.  

I don’t wish to hurt you.  
Only to leave gently,  
and that is still  
a kind of cruelty—  
to be kind.  

Even now,  
I measure sweetness  
in what we almost were.  

And still—  

My love,
I love
you, love,
not enough.