You have mine. 

I give it freely. Take her 

in your arms and love her as I couldn’t. Put your ring on her. 

Claim her. Own her. Make her yours as I couldn’t. 

Brand her. Mark her. 

Stain her in a way that changes her. I could never and never will. Perhaps you love her 

more than I. Perhaps that is what love is, to make a mark, 

to leave a way of telling, showing, having. 

Instead, I will love her in my way, in my own way, 

far from her, 

imperfectly, as I am. 

As she is. 

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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2 Responses to Blessing

  1. Trent Lewin says:

    There is nothing imperfect about you.

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