For the want of

It’s not for the want of beauty that I still want you. Not that you are not beautiful. It is not that at all. It is not for the fact that I have the image of you in my stupid little head that still wants you, or the image, and it all gets too fucked up. It is not for the want of Jesus. It is not for the want of headaches. It is not for the lack of tennis. It is not for the lack of sex. It is not for the lack of your skin next to mine… Hold on, I went too far. It is for the lack of of you lying close to me. Skin on skin. It is for the lack of you in my life. It is for those lacks. It is for the lack of me never giving up. It is for the want of a non-giving-up you. It is for the want of growing old with you in my arms, night after night, and babies asleep in the other room, and me with a bottle in their mouth and not in mine finally, and for me realizing there is as much reason to stay in this place as there is to go anywhere else in this little world.