If you are the very reason that I awake
From a deep and torturous slumber every morning;

If you are the rays of light to my sun;

If you are the goosebumps to my low temperature;

If you are the skin of the apple that I had for lunch on Wednesday;

If you are the soles of my shoes;

If you are the dust underneath my bed that is really just dead, old skin;

If you are the breath of life that a lifeguard gives a drowning victim;

If you are the fire coursing through my veins making its way into my heart;

If you are the demon and angel on my shoulders,
Bickering about my choosing the road less traveled by;

If you are the pen to my poetry;

If you are the frostbite left on my fingers from waiting out in the cold too long For you to come back;

If you are the edge of a butterfly's wings flapping past me aiming for my palms;

If you are the love of my life;

Then what am I?

The right answer, is

I Am Everything To Myself
And Nothing To You.