I don't iron his shirt; I don't sew on his b___ons.
I don't know all the jokes he tells, or the songs he hums.
Though I may hold him all through the night
He may not be there when the morning comes.

I don't pick out his ties, or expect his tomorrows.
But I feel when he's in my arms, he's where he wants to be.
We have no memories bittersweet with time,
And I doubt if he'll spend New Years Eve with me.

I don't share his name; I don't wear his ring.
There's no piece of paper saying that he's mine,
But he says he loves me, and I believe it's true.
Doesn't that make someone belong to you?

So we don't have the memories -
I have enough memories.
I've watched enough mornings,
I've cried enough evenings,
I've had enough birthdays to know what I want.

Life is anyone's guess -
It's a constant surprise.
You don't plan to fall in love,
But when you fall, you fall.
I'd rather have fifty percent of him,
Or any percent of him,
Than all of anybody else at all.

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