When I was young

Love to me was longing

For the night, the loving

For the morning, the lingering

Love was looking at the shape of you

Embedded in the blue shirt

Hanging off the the king sized bed

When I had been married for a little while too long

Love to me was the mundane

Of thousands little nothings

Like dreaming, sleeping, talking

Like carelessly time-wasting

Love was washing the worn grime

Embedded in the blue shirt

Hanging off the laundry basket

Now I am older

Love is just beginning

It is the long nights of listening to you struggling to breathe

It is the short days of holding your hands as you drift away

It is the deliberate treasuring of our simple hellos and goodbyes

Love is wearing the memories

Embedded in the blue shirt

Hanging off the back of your sitting chair

I've written to ease my pain; I've written to hear my voice; I've written for vanity; I've written for sanity; I've written for fun; I've written for laughs; I've written for me; I've written for money. But until I write for God, this talent is for naught.