I found it, last night.
And it wasn't at the bottom of a pint of lager
nor in the burnt out butt of a cigarette.
It was in my smile, reflected by those smiling around me,
as I tossed my hair, and caught the gaze of many guys
gazing starry eyed at me.
One approached, upon hearing me quote Shakspeare
and asked his friend "Can I keep her?"
to which I replied with sigh and the shake of my head,
as I stepped outside into the snow.
The white flakes were falling softly,
I breathed in toxic smoke.
And you, there on that sad height,
stumbled out into the night.
I forgot how much I loved you.
You forgot that you just thought of me as a friend.
With your arm in mine, we slid home,
plowing a pathway through the snow.
At your door, as I went to search for your keys
I slipped and fell,
rather than laugh, you floated down next to me.
There, we lay, making imprints of angels
without the halos,
and you turned to me and told me
you loved me so,
and now I know
I found it.
It didn't exist between the lines of a book,
nor manifest itself in a comedy sketch.
It wasn't in all my money spent,
or looking pretty when I go out with friends.
Or kissing a boy, even though he will never be you,
or giving up on love, because it will never be true.
I found happiness, somewhere at last, last night,
with snow down the back of my pants,
and frosted fingers swollen and red,
I went to bed no longer longing to have someone there
to share all my adventures with.
I no longer need to find someone like you,
I got you, and that's enough.
Love is love, regardless of how much.