What is meant for you
Is meant for everyone.
Everyone’s love is the love that measures the love of everything I do.
I sent this to you alone—
But it belonged to someone else before me,
And it doesn’t matter if I keep it, or give it away.
It just is. It’s not to give.
I can send it to you, but I cannot give it to you, because others see what is mine every day:
Those eyes you love, and personal things in my poetry.
It is not mine. It is not yours. Nothing truly belongs to us that is ours to give.
So giving is impossible, therefore loving is impossible; it’s impossible to live
Without living the messy life of everyone.
Send you my ass? I might as well send you the sun.