i’ve been told i have too much love, and also that i don’t have enough. i’ve been told my love is inadequate, too. too much of this and too little of that, never enough of what you need, or want. i’ve been told i should have brought something out in you, make you into the man you always dreamt of becoming. like that is a woman’s duty; but you threw that in my face, too. i’ve been told i’m the most understanding person you ever met, and that i don’t understand you at all, too. that i make you happy but always hurt you in the end, because that’s what i wanted to do all along. that i’m an angel sent from heaven, a muse, a cold bitch, a motherfucking whore. you see, i’ve been told many things, yet never did you think of telling me these things while we lay in bed naked after fucking. not once did your lips move while i brushed the insecuries from your eyebrows and behind your ears, or while the beating of my heart soothed yours as you fell asleep, safe. and, baby, what you never quite saw is that you, like me, were enough all along.