I often wish that I could take out the part of me that holds affection for others, not remove it, but present it in tangible presence to the target. I suppose that I worry my emotional inners are translucent and appear to the outer as little more than lace dressing on a dilapidated facade. I would cup my love gently in two hands proffered and couple the offering with supplicant intent lowered over my features. This, I would say, is the weight of your worth to me, misshapen maybe but undeniably real. Take it, it grows only for you.