A man once asked me, “Why were you interested in me? I don’t have money, nice clothes or a house.” And the question caught me by surprise, so much so that I actually chuckled. How silly he was to think that’s what I was after—that when I looked at him, that’s what I saw—some sort of wealth, some sort of gain, some sort of tangible, monetary reason why I was interested in him.
It was never that. Never about fancy clothes or cars; never about financial status or even selfish reasons. It was about his smile, about the way he made me laugh, about his personality and who he was. Not what he had. But to this day, his question makes me wonder.
Why is it that we think ‘all’ we have to offer is what we have—our possessions, our things, our ‘stuff’ rather than our souls? Why do we see what we have as more important that who we are?
And when it comes down to it, what do we really have? At the end of the day, the money means nothing, the house will crumble, the job is merely an endless task to keep us busy, the shoes and purses and cars will scuff and break and cease to run. These are only activities, only objects. Neither define, nor reflect who we really are.
In the end, all we have is our heart, is our soul.
When we fall in love with someone, when we choose to intertwine our hearts with one another, we want to give, want to share, want to open and offer all of ourselves—but this isn’t about the physical, tangible things. This is about our heart, our emotion, our love.
We can offer all the jewels in the world, all the gold, all the silver, all the diamonds. We can shower our partners with expensive vacations, with spa treatments, with sneakers and hats and steak dinners. But what, of those things, truly matters when it comes to a deeper connection? What, of those things, will outlast us, will strengthen our bond?
What, of those things, comes from us as people, and not simply material gains of this world?
We simply cannot offer any more of ourselves than our hearts. And honestly, that is humbling. That is huge. That is more than enough.
I, for one, cannot offer a life filled with perfection. I can’t give a flawless face because eventually my skin will wrinkle and blemish and no longer look the same. I cannot offer a body because this body will swell and shrink and grow and change. I cannot offer a house or car, cannot offer wealth or fancy shoes or expensive jewelry. Yes, I can give you presents and gifts. Yes, I can shower you with affection and items that are the material representation of my love.
But will that truly be enough? Or will these items fade, leaving only my love behind?
The only thing I can promise, the only thing I can ultimately give you in this life, is my love.
I hope that’s enough.
Because it’s my everything. 
Marisa Donnelly is a poet and author of the book, Somewhere on a Highway, available here.
