The Terrible Inadequacy Of An Entire Life

All I can do is talk to you while we cook and listen to old jazz records in the kitchen.
All I can do is remember your birthday and our anniversary and the days special things happened.
All I can do is touch your hand lightly when something happens in the movie on the couch.
All I can do, is make love to you, kiss you, grow old with you and then die with you.
But the light in me will still want to touch the light in you and while all of these things are beautiful and good, none of them are that.

It is all, incredibly unfair.