You've grown on me. I wish that you hadn't. I have a home,
A wife, a life, which, while not altogether joyous, passes
Uneventfully. I'm not a storm-tossed adolescent, keen
To lean into the sort of blast I'm feeling now from you.
I'd rather not grow so impatient when I know that you'll
Be here, and, likewise, I'd prefer to think of other things
When you have gone. I can't. Against my better judgement,
You have grown on me.