I love you,
not only for what you are,
but for what I am
when I am with you.
I love you,
not only for
what you have made of yourself,
but for what you are making of me.
I love you for the part of me
that you bring out;
I love you for putting your hand
into my heaped-up heart
and passing over all the foolish,
weak things that you can't help
dimly seeing there,
and for drawing out into the light
all the beautiful belongings
that no one else has looked
quite far enough to find.
I love you
because you are helping to make the lumber of my life
not a tavern, but a temple;
out of the works of every day
not a reproach, but a song.
I love you
because you have done more
than any creed could have done
to make me good, and more
than any fate could have done
to make me happy.
You have done it by being yourself.
Perhaps that is what
being a friends means,
after all.
--R. Croft |