You were always enough for me
The way you would dance across
the cold slate floor, in your stripy tights
with holes in the toes
was enough.

The way you would absentmindedly
leave arbitrary pocket dials each afternoon
to fill up my answering machine
was enough.

Your innumerable, yet entirely useless talents,
like the ability to recite French love songs
or your never-ending battle with the corner
of coffee tables, and stove tops,
leaving traceable bruises,
was enough.

Your multi-coloured hair and nails because
you changed your mind more often than you lost it,
was enough.

My god, even the way you chewed your pen
till your lip resembled the colour of my coffee
was enough.
But it was never enough for you.

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