Just like these silly little gifts, my love can gather dust in a drawer,
Or it can be yours
But it cannot be made use of any other way.
It cannot be given to another.
THIS love, this here,
It is for you.
It is not transferable.
If I am forced I will love again, some other way, some other person,
But YOUR LOVE
Will never leave me.
This gorgeous, precious feeling...
It will sit abandoned on some dust covered shelf,
A beautiful thing never touched because of its worth.
That is why your guilt puzzles me.
You are not taking anything from me,
Not putting my adoration to unworthy use-
It is for no one else but you.
It could not even reach another.
It is ONLY yours,
And so,
Like your gifts, like your flowers, like everything I try to give you
You may take it and let it rejoice at its entire purpose of existence,
Or you may let it gather dust
And become heavy with grief.