You were all I wanted that I never knew I wanted.
Sweet honey, cool water, satisfying, satiating.
Unfairly, you carried the years I’d lived without you,
An ideal, imagined perfection, companion as I dreamed it only,
The monument of what I can’t, for conscience sake, call success
Defined by the expansive chasm of what I can’t call failure
Because I was not competing, was not trying with poor results,
Was not complying sympathetically, although I sympathized,
But I am not complaining: waiting was the wound that made health