Y-O-U

When facing the big question, 

I must make a grand confession:

I don't want some dream vacation, 

a yacht, a house, monetary compensation.

I simply need one thing my dear, 

and that thing is y-o-u.

I won't pretend to disagree

Because in actuality, 

The thing I long for at my core, the one I've truly fallen for

The only thing that's crystal clear:

That's right, it's y-o-u.

There may come a time one day, 

Be it Thursday, Friday, Saturday, 

When life winds up to pitch a curve

Directly at my facial nerve.

In times like these, I needn't fear;

I've still got y-o-u.

Then of course when I'm dismayed

Stressed out, exhuaseted, the whole tirade, 

I look at you and feel no strife.

You're the butter for my butter knife,

The Paul to my Revere. 

Thank God for y-o-u.

So back to where this all began, 

Forgive my meandering attention span.

The one thing I can't live without, 

To move past all of the roundabout, 

The truth today, and in the coming year

I'm glad that you're my y-o-u.