The Smallest Meaning

When I say love, I mean the kitchen light

You leave for me when I come home at night;

The soup you save, though dinner's long been through,

The note that says, “I made enough for you.”

I mean the nights when neither one gives in,

The shirts we've left unfolded in a pile;

You look away to hide a sudden grin,

Then turn to me, defeated by a smile.

I mean the days when neither of us knows

How to be useful, patient, good or brave;

I'll stay when nothing helps and silence grows,

And sit beside you through another wave.

I thought that love would sound like something grand,

Like all the things that lovers swear are true;

But most days it means reaching for your hand

And making ordinary room for you.