Is it greedy to want you to think of me one quarter of how often I think of you (which is, honestly, less than when I breathe or open or close my eyes)? I want to, every now and then, exist for you in the mirror as you style your hair. I want you to pause as a smile twists your lips. Not for longer than a split second, a squeeze of lime, a sneeze but gently. I want to be a reason you light up. I want to be what you are to me. Not everything. Not even most. Some. Part. Bordering on necessary, but not the breath. Better for having. Yours. Someday, beloved.

image from pixabay.com

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