ever being anything

I want you too much, he said, to just keep you a little while. And then he set me free.

And I said nothing, because I would not argue for my own captivity. I said nothing, but this is what thought:

How much time would be enough with me? On what clock does "enough" chime, anyway?

Must you see my hair turn white, my skin grow ashen? Or perhaps that's too much time? Would the heavy hips and wrinkled smile of middle age satisfy you instead?

How about just five years? Is five years adequate? Do you think you could come to hate my quirks and bad habits by then? Be tired of my selfishness and temper?

Maybe you only need a year. Three hundred sixty-five days of my life tied to yours, to make you feel you'd gotten your money's worth. Your return on investment. Because why else bother, right? Something to show for it, or nothing at all?

What if I said, you can fit that year in a weekend, if you do it right. What if I said, you can know someone completely, in the ways that matter anyway, just by noticing what makes them laugh? By letting them show you how to touch them. By accepting their vulnerability. 

What if I said the whole spirit of love can be contained in a single kiss? And that fifty of them is a chest of riches you could choose to be happy with, if you wanted. Who stands in a warm, soft rain, and demands of the sky a storm? Especially when the rain feels so good. 

You can't keep anything in this world. Nothing lasts. Some moments are just moments. Others can span years, if you archive them properly. I'll collect what I can and be grateful for it. 

That's what I thought, when a little of me wasn't enough.