Too.

It’s one thing,
One easy thing,

For your joy to be
My
Joy.

It’s another thing,
One. Much. Harder. Thing.

When your ache becomes
My
Ache,

Complete with a deep,
Helpless inability

To apply that soothing balm
For which

All our Sore Souls
Cry.

That’s when I know
I love you.

Too.